The Boys of Summer
by eveilly
Summary: While on a business trip to Napa Valley, CA, liquor salesman Arthur Kirkland meets the handsome and charming Alfred F. Jones, heir to a multi-million dollar wine company. It's the start of a summer he'll never forget. AU USxUK
1. Ch 1: The Gentleman and the Adventurer

Welcome readers :) eveilly here!

So this is the first fanfiction I've written in a while . . . and it's also the first Hetalia fanfiction I've done—so lots of firsts for this one! I've been obsessed with the whole USxUK pairing lately, so what better way to fuel my obsession than by writing about it myself? So read on (if you dare) and (hopefully) enjoy!

Setting: Alternative Universe, Napa Valley, California, present day

Summary: While on a business trip to Napa Valley, CA, liquor salesman Arthur Kirkland meets the handsome and charming Alfred F. Jones, heir to a multi-million dollar wine company. Actually, Alfred sort of saves Arthur's life when his apartment complex catches on fire, so now Arthur's indebted to the man. Surely, things couldn't get any worse . . . or is it that they actually couldn't get any better?

Pairing: USxUK, here referred to by their human names Alfred and Arthur; more parings may show up in later chapters

Rating: T for some language, but it may get bumped up to M later . . .

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

The Boys of Summer

Chapter One: The Gentleman and the Adventurer

Arthur Kirkland was not having a pleasant day.

In fact, his day had been quite exasperating so far, and it wasn't even over yet—not by a long shot. He was famished, fatigued, forlorn, and all he wanted was to go home . . . but that wasn't an option. He was thousands of miles from home, stranded in a strange and foreign land where he didn't know a living soul. And, to make matters worse, he would be stuck there for at least three months.

In other words, although Arthur was prone to frequent bouts of moodiness, he actually had an excuse for it today.

"So, where you from?"

Arthur snapped out of his reverie at the sound of the cab driver's voice.

_Well that's just lovely, _he thought, _now I have to make small talk with this idiot too? _Arthur preferred being left alone; the very thought of having to chat made his head throb. Plus, his ears were still adjusting to being back on the ground after the long flight, and silence tasted sweet to them. Still, if there was one thing Arthur prided himself on, it was the fact that he was a gentleman. So instead of ignoring the cab driver, he replied with, "I just arrived here from London."

"That far? What brings you here?"

"Work."

Just because he had to reply to the man didn't mean his answers had to be lengthy. But it was true: he was only here for work. There was nothing else on earth that could have compelled him to travel here—to America of all places—except for his job. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to come for a vacation, even if he had had time to spare for one. But he was quite busy with his career; he worked for a liquor company, and they had sent him to Napa Valley, California to negotiate with a wine company in the area. Arthur was to meet with the businessmen of this company and report back to his own on whether he thought a partnership with them might be worthwhile. After that, he could return to London.

"So how long you here for?" the driver asked, jaw flapping open and shut as he chewed his bubblegum.

"With any luck, not too long," Arthur replied, and his words came out harsher than he had intended.

_Oh well, at least it killed the conversation_, he thought, as the cab driver had fallen into silence, finally realizing that Arthur wasn't exactly the sociable type. Not that Arthur had anything against the driver—it was just that he'd had a very, very long day. First the flight to San Francisco, and now the nearly two-hour drive up to Napa . . . and he hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast. Plane food was always atrocious, so he refused to touch the stuff, and it seemed to him as though the only restaurants he had passed since his arrival were fast food joints. Really, why did people feel the need to build McDonald's on every street corner in this country? America made no sense. People were so loud and obnoxious, they had no sense of propriety whatsoever, and they even drove on the wrong side of the road! The only thing Arthur could say he didn't hate so far was some of the scenery. He had heard that the Napa Valley countryside was supposed to be breathtaking and picturesque, all Garden-of-Eden-like. Peering out his window, Arthur had to admit that the sloping hills and soft emerald fields weren't all _that _intolerable. . . .

_And at least it doesn't rain much here in the summertime_, he added. It was mid-June, and the climate was supposed to be warm and dry. Arthur leaned his head against the window's glass as he thought of it, eyelids slowly drooping. . . .

"Hey, nap time's over! We're here!"

Arthur's eyes fluttered open at the man's words, and he quickly shook himself awake. In the window's glass, he spotted a red mark on his forehead where he had rested it against the pane. He noticed, too, that nightfall had crept up upon him while he was sleeping, for the sky was dark, and the stars were shining.

The cab driver quoted him a price, and Arthur handed over the money. It was a sizable sum, but the liquor company was paying his expenses, so he didn't care. Instead, he simply grabbed his scruffy suitcase, thanked the cab driver, and hopped out of the car. In front of him towered an apartment complex—the one where he was to be rooming. Arthur gazed up at it for a few moments more, breathing in the warm, fresh evening air. There wasn't any smog in it, not like the air back in London.

_Not that I'm complaining about London_, Arthur thought, making his way toward the building. _London's far superior, of course, in every other way. . . ._

When he reached the front doors, he slipped through into the building's lobby. It was quite plush and impressive, with marble floors and sofas with satin pillows. The apartment complex had only been built a few months before, but what with the onset of the American housing crisis, the owner had been unable to sell the apartments. So he had taken to trying to rent them out instead, although that wasn't working out too well either. He had lowered the cost of rent considerably, but there were still only a few people who had taken him up on the offer.

"Excuse me," Arthur began, addressing the woman behind the lobby's front desk, "but I'm a new tenant here, and I've only just arrived . . ."

"Your name please?" she asked.

"Arthur Kirkland."

The woman left to fetch something, and when she returned, she was holding a set of keys in her hand.

"Right then, I'll show you to your new place," she said, smiling, and Arthur followed her to the elevator.

Inside, she asked, "So, you're from England?"

_Not this again_, he thought, but only nodded in response.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?" she pressed.

"Sorry," he said, "it's just that I've had a very tiring day."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I only meant that I was _hoping_ you'd speak. I want to hear your accent! We don't get many Brits around here, you know."

"Technically, _you're _the one with the accent," Arthur corrected, a little irritably. "After all, the language is called _English_, even though you Americans seem to think it belongs to you and that you can change whatever you please about it—"

At that moment, the elevator doors buzzed open, and Arthur caught himself.

_Damn it all, I'm acting like a colossal git again, aren't I? _He blamed America. Something about this country brought out the worst in him.

Clearing his throat, he began, "Yes, well, sorry about that. It looks as though this is my floor. I think I can find my way from here, if you'd be so kind as to hand me the key." He tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.

Stiffly, the woman nodded and dropped the key into his palm. Feeling like a complete asshole, Arthur left the elevator and started down the hall. Could this day get any worse? The answer was yes, although he didn't know it yet.

It didn't take long for him to find his room. It was 13-3.

"I'm on the thirteenth floor?" he whispered, frowning. Unlucky number thirteen. Although he never admitted it in public, Arthur was rather superstitious, and this wasn't a good sign. Still, there was nothing he could do about it except turn the key and enter.

Inside, Arthur briefly examined the flat. It was already furnished, and it seemed suitable enough, so he took to unpacking what few possessions he had brought with him. The rest of his things were scheduled to be flown in tomorrow. Taking out his toothbrush and a few other necessities, he swiftly prepared for bed, slipping on his pajamas last. He was eager to get some much-needed rest. Rummaging around in his suitcase, he pulled out the last item necessary for sleep: his unicorn plushie. Stardust was her name, and his mother had given it to him when he was very young. A cascade of nostalgia washed over him as he held the soft toy in his arms; his parents were both dead, and although his father had never really been a part of his life, he had been close to his mother. Ever since her death two years ago, things had never been quite right. Now he and his older brothers were always fighting. When she died, it seemed the last hope for family peace had died with her.

Glancing out the window beside his bed, Arthur could see the city's lights in the distance, but all he felt was a wave of aching loneliness. He wondered at those lights out there . . . were those people just settling in for the night, being welcomed home by their families and lovers? Or were some of them heading home to an empty house and an empty bed, just as he was . . .

_You idiot, pull yourself together, _he ordered, straightening up. This was no time to be sentimental. He had a big day ahead of him tomorrow—he was to meet with the representatives of the wine company, so he needed to get his rest. Reaching over, he clicked off the lamp and pulled the bed-sheets over him.

"At least there's one good thing that comes of sleeping alone," he whispered, hugging his unicorn close. "I don't have to explain this bloody stuffed animal to anyone."

xxx

Alfred F. Jones was bored. _Really _bored. Bored and hungry, actually. But that was nothing new; he typically experienced both of these feelings on a daily basis. "Hungry" was familiar to him because it seemed Alfred's stomach was _never _satisfied. He might be feeling completely full one second and then he would catch a whiff of a hot dog on the wind, and he just couldn't help himself. Besides, it wasn't as though he were fat; he worked out all the time, and his body was absolutely perfect, if he did say so himself.

The second feeling, "boredom," was also familiar because Alfred had been born with a remarkably low attention span. It wasn't as though he didn't have things to do, he just felt he had done them all before. He had lived in Napa Valley his whole life, and he had memorized every boulevard, restaurant, and shopping center. What he longed for more than anything was the chance to travel to other places—they didn't have to be far away, just _new_. He wanted excitement and adventure, like in the movies. He was only nineteen, after all, so he might as well live his life while he still could. But it wasn't exactly up to him.

The problem was that his family was obscenely rich. Now, this in and of itself wasn't the issue (Alfred felt no shame in admitting that he loved being rich), but it was the _reason_ his parents were rich that was the problem. It was because they owned a business—a wine company, to be exact. It had been in Alfred's family for generations, and now his parents expected him to take up the mantle and become an employee of the company too. Someday, they hoped he would become the CEO. But Alfred didn't want the same things that they wanted for him. He loved his family's company, but he wasn't the business type—he didn't belong in that world. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure where he _did _belong, but that was the point of life, right? To figure it out along the way?

But for now, Alfred had opted to appease them. He had taken a low-level position at the company, and he was doing well enough, even though he wasn't enjoying the job. But tonight, it was still Sunday, so it counted as part of the weekend, and he was free to do as he wished. As usual, Alfred hadn't gone out with any plan in mind; he had simply left the house, hopped on his motorbike, and let the road lead him where it would. And, as it often did, it had led him to McDonald's. There, he had gulped down two gigantic burgers, plus fries and a Coke. Well, that took care of his hunger—for a little while, anyway. But there was still the issue of boredom. Sitting at his table, he glanced at the kid's play area, wishing he were still young enough to fit on the slide and dangle from the monkey bars. But he wasn't a kid anymore, so he rose from his table, dumped his trash in the bin, and walked out into the night.

It was humid and warm outside, and Alfred stood there beside his bike for a few minutes, just staring down the road. It seemed to stretch on forever, vast and unknowable. Shivers ran up his spine as he was seized with the sudden urge to rev up his bike and chase down that endless road—just riding and riding and never looking back. . . .

But then the wind died down, and Alfred realized how crazy it was to think of taking off like that. Nope, he would be stuck here for a long time, it seemed. It wouldn't be so bad if only something would _happen _around here. Nothing ever happened in Napa. . . .

_BOOM!_

Alfred jerked his head backward just in time to spot a flash of light in the distance.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, squinting at the sky. It had almost sounded like thunder, but there wasn't a cloud above him.

"What happened?" someone yelled behind him. It was one of the McDonald's employees, come out to investigate the noise. Alfred began to shrug, but as he turned his head again, he noticed something new: there was smoke curling up in the distance. Something was on fire.

Alfred wasted no time in swinging himself onto his motorbike.

"Hey, what are you doing?" the McDonald's worker asked as his bike shook itself awake.

Turning, Alfred gave a thumbs-up and shot the woman his most winning smile.

"Answering the call of adventure," he replied, and then he was off, a cloud of dust kicking up in his wake.

xxx

_To be continued..._

So, what do you guys think? I mainly tried to set up the characters and setting in this chapter, but the action will be coming soon!

Now I'm going to get down on my hands and knees and beg, beg, BEG for reviews! Reviews are like candy bars to me: I'm addicted to them. Seriously, you guys could make my day just by taking a minute or two to type a comment! So please, help out a poor starving author and REVIEW! It will make the world a happier place.

Next Chapter: Alfred and Arthur meet each other for the first time, though it isn't under the best of circumstances. For instance, there's a burning building involved, and that's never good...unless you have a hero around to help you out, of course...

See you guys then!


	2. Ch 2: Don't Yell 'Fire'

Hello all :) So here's chapter two, fresh off the grill!

Before we start, I'd just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to everybody who reviewed, favorited, or put this story on their alert list. Truly, it's your support that's encouraged me to continue writing this!

Also, a special thanks to those who reviewed: **Liila6241, Choco-Pocky-Usa-chan, SnowGirl999, ImaduckQuaQua, ChickenHax, tamiki-kun, lisacreature, MelodyOfStarshine, ****alguien22792**, **Guyppyvis**, and the anonymous reviewers too!

Also, a few other notes:

**At tamiki-kun** (is it tamiki-kun or tamaki-kun?): Your suggestion intrigued me, so I went online and looked at the French Laundry's website. When they say "A great meal is an emotional experience," I can just picture France saying the same thing! (And Arthur rolling his eyes) XD I had planned all along to include Monsieur Francis in this story, but I have a specific place in mind where he's going to show up. However, I think this restaurant looks cool, so I'm pretty sure I can fit it in there somewhere :D But it'll have to be sometime after they've met France, so it will end up being later on in the story…I hope you're okay with waiting!

**At ImaduckQuaQua**: Yep, he's sad. But that's cause he hasn't met his soul mate yet! *hehehe*

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Now, without further ado…

Chapter 2: Don't Yell 'Fire!'

It was 12:30 in the morning when Arthur awoke with a jolt. He was dazed and half-asleep, but he knew he had heard _something_. He could even feel the floor rumbling beneath him.

"What the bloody hell is _that_?" he grumbled, none too pleased about the shaking. He wondered if it was an earthquake; he had heard that the California area was prone to them, and it would just be his luck that one would decide to pay him a visit on his very first night there. However, he didn't have much time to dwell on this thought as a discordant shrieking noise suddenly pierced the air. Clapping his hands to his ears, he realized that the smoke alarm was going off.

"Oh God, what now?" he exclaimed, springing out of bed and haphazardly pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt. Hurrying over to the window, he squinted into the darkness and spotted a thin trail of smoke drifting upward from someplace near the bottom level of the building. With each passing second, the air was becoming more and more polluted, and that didn't bode well for Arthur.

_I've got to get away from here_, he thought. Wheeling around, he scooped up his unicorn plushie (the only thing he valued enough to grab), and dashed out into the hallway.

Outside, the hall was deserted. Apart from the fire alarm's incessant wailing, there weren't any other sounds, nor even any other movements. It sent a shiver up Arthur's spine, and for a moment, he almost imagined the whole thing to be one great big conspiracy of which he had not been made privy . . . but then he pulled himself together and remembered that the complex was nearly devoid of residents; as far as he knew, there wasn't anyone else rooming on his floor.

_The thirteenth floor_, he reminded himself. _You should have known something like this would happen. But no, you had to ignore the signs, you bloody fool! _

Gritting his teeth, Arthur bolted for the stairwell, a mixture of fear, anxiety, and anger stewing within him. His brain waffled back and forth: one minute he was convinced he would end up char-broiled and the next he was laughing at himself for even considering such an extreme possibility. But most of all, he wished that there was someone—_anyone_—around to reassure him. If there had even been one other person trapped in the same situation, he would have felt better about it . . . but it was only him, alone, as usual.

Upon entering the stairwell, Arthur's nose picked up the scent of smoke right away, and he knew that wasn't good. Raw instinct took over now, and he practically flew down the stairs, not bothering to read the floor numbers as they passed by. He happened to catch the number ten when he bypassed the tenth floor, and perhaps the eighth or seventh floors as well . . . he couldn't be sure. He was only interested in one thing: making it outside, back into that fresh, untainted night air. After all, it was so very stuffy in here and—wait, since when had the air turned so hazy?

Arthur found himself slowing down as he reached the fourth floor. The stairwell was visibly saturated with smoke now, and he bent over in an attempt to keep his head below it. Still, this task was proving more and more difficult as his treacherous journey dragged on. Now his eyes were watering and he found himself coughing and hacking, and he was starting to feel light-headed from lack of oxygen . . . but then he reached it: the first floor.

_Go on. You're almost there, old boy. Just a little further._

Reaching out a trembling hand, Arthur gripped the door's handle and pushed, hoping to find himself within reach of an escape route. Instead, he felt as though he had opened a door straight into hell.

The entire room was engulfed in flames. The embers had swarmed the place like wild beasts, ravaging the sofas and tables, gluttonously devouring everything in their wake. And each time they swallowed something new, they grew. Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before they would consume the entire level—and him along with it. There was no place else to go—and no where to hide. Arthur considered climbing back up the stairs, perhaps to the second floor. If he jumped from there, he might only break a couple of bones . . . but when he tried to take a step backward, his legs gave way, and he found himself on his knees. The smoke was starting to get to him.

_There has to be a way out_, he reassured himself, refusing to succumb to defeat. Staying low to the ground, he began to crawl forward, eyes darting about for any possible hole in the curtain of flame. Unfortunately, he spotted nothing, and panic began to rise in him like volcanic steam.

_Oh God, I'm going to die, _he thought. _I'm truly going to die_. He couldn't believe it. Just earlier that morning, he had been complaining about having to travel to America for three months—how ridiculous it was to be depressed over something so trivial! Or at least it seemed that way to him, now that he was staring death in the face.

_Come on, somebody has to come_, he thought. Somebody had to have spotted the flames by now. Didn't they have firemen in America? So where were they? Arthur pictured them slacking off, gulping down a Subway sandwich or something. Didn't they know that he was dying in here? At least, he _hoped _somebody knew he was in here. The woman who worked at the front desk had to know he was there, if she had made it out alive herself. Suddenly, Arthur wished he hadn't been so rude to her earlier. _Now she'll leave me to burn for sure. _

A charred chunk of ceiling collapsed to the floor just in front of him. It was yet another sign that he didn't have much time left. He thought of his family and how he'd never see them again. It had all been so foolish; they had been constantly bickering, always at each other's throats, and for what? It had all been pointless. Arthur was going to die before he had even turned twenty-four . . . before he had even had a chance to live his life. He was still a virgin, for God's sake! He had never even been in love . . .

Coughing and wheezing, Arthur braced himself for the worst. His lungs burned, his eyes stung, and he just wanted it to be over. Clutching his unicorn stuffed animal to his body, he thought of his mother. At least they would be reunited now. Perhaps she was lonely, and this was her way of getting to see him again . . . but no, she would never have wanted her son's life to end like this—what was he thinking? His brain couldn't even function properly anymore. Everything around him was crimson and violet and black, and he just wanted those devilish flames to stop cackling at him.

xxx

"Hey, what's going on?" Alfred yelled, bouncing off his motorbike before it even had a chance to stop. He was standing outside of an apartment complex, and the thing was going up in flames. A small crowd had gathered around, and there were a few police cars present. Apparently the fire department hadn't gotten there yet.

"I think they said it was a gas leak explosion or something," one of the bystanders told Alfred.

"Is there anybody in there?" Alfred asked, but the man only shrugged. At this, Alfred swept over to where a policeman was interviewing a young lady. The girl seemed rather distressed.

"And you're sure he's still in there?" the police officer asked.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure," she replied, wringing her hands. "I mean, he just checked in earlier this evening, so I think he must still be inside . . ."

"Wait, there's somebody trapped in there?" Alfred interrupted, much to the policeman's chagrin.

"You need to stay out of this, sir—"

"Yeah, there's a man trapped in there!" the woman answered, cutting him off. "A new tenant. He was staying on the thirteenth floor, and his name's Arthur Kirkland. He checked in at about ten, but I don't know if he's . . . my shift ended at midnight, so I wasn't there when the explosion happened."

"It's okay, that's all I needed to know," Alfred said, turning to the officer. He noticed the man had his police jacket draped over his arm. "Hey, can I borrow that?" he asked, snatching it up before the man had a chance to answer. "Thanks!" And then he bolted for the building's lobby.

"Hey, you can't go in there!" the officer called after him. "Come back here this instant! We have to wait for the fire department! Do you hear me?"

Alfred heard him all right, but it didn't change his mind one bit.

xxx

Inside, Arthur was struggling to stay conscious. The flames were close by now; he could feel them lapping at his feet like vicious canines, but he was too weak to move. He was almost too weak even to _think_. And now he had to be hearing things, because he could have sworn someone was calling his name, but that couldn't be possible . . .

And now he had to be hallucinating, because his eyes had picked up the shape of a blurred figure in the distance. It was advancing toward him, and he lowered his eyelids, hoping that might make the hallucination disappear. But it didn't work. The next thing Arthur knew, someone was gripping his arm and turning him over onto his back.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Arthur's eyes shot open and he gave the man a look that suggested, _"I'm surrounded on all sides by raging flames, and I'm about to die of asphyxiation. Does it bloody look like I'm okay?"_ But the stranger only grinned.

"Hang in there, Arthur. I'll get you outta here."

"How do you know my name?" Arthur croaked, throat so parched that it actually _hurt _to speak.

"You're on the verge of death, and you're worried about how I know your name?" the man asked, laughing. "You Brits sure are weird."

"Shut up, you dimwitted moron—"

But Arthur didn't have a chance to finish his sentence as he felt himself being lifted off of the floor. He didn't like feeling so helpless and feeble, so he flailed his arms and legs about uselessly, just to show that he could.

"Hey, could you tone it down?" the man asked, holding him steady. "I'm trying to save your life here!"

At last, Arthur did calm down, mostly because he was too exhausted to move anymore. So he allowed the man to drape a jacket over him, noticing that the thing already looked partially burnt. He figured that the man had used it to shield himself from the flames on his way into the building, and now he was putting it around Arthur to protect him. But who was this man anyway? He couldn't be a fireman; he wasn't wearing any of the protective gear necessary for that. And how had he known Arthur's name, anyway?

"I'm going to make a run for it, so brace yourself," the man suddenly warned, and Arthur held tight to him. The next couple of seconds whizzed by in a flash—Arthur felt the flames snap at them as the man dashed across the room, and there was the unpleasant sensation of raw heat dangling close to his head, but then it was all over, and he knew they had made it outside.

At first, the outside wasn't much better than the inside, since the air was so thick with smoke. But as the man continued to rush forward at top speed (where was he getting all that strength from, anyway?), Arthur could feel the air thinning out. His lungs gulped down as much of it as they could, and he finally began to believe that he might live to see a new day after all.

It was then that the man slowed down, lowering Arthur to the ground. A murmur of surprise swept through the crowd nearby, and a few men came running up to them. Arthur could hear sirens, and they sounded close; perhaps the fireman had finally finished their sandwiches and decided to show up. But Arthur wasn't focused on _them_. He was focused on the man right in front of him—the one who had saved his life. Glancing up at him, Arthur saw for the first time that this man was injured too; since he had used his jacket to shield Arthur, he had had nothing to shield himself with, and his arms were badly burnt.

"You idiot, why did you do that?" Arthur mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Why did you go in there? You risked your life, and you don't even know me. Why . . . ?"

"Why? Because I'm a hero!" the man declared, all smiles. How could he still smile when he had to be in so much pain? Arthur shook his head.

"You Americans sure are weird," he quoted, smiling despite himself.

"Me? Well at least I wasn't carrying around _this _thing in the middle of a fire!" the man countered, flinging Arthur's unicorn plushie at him.

"Oh, sod off!" Arthur grumbled, hugging his stuffed animal. He could feel his senses going numb, and he knew he was about to pass out. But just before he did, he spared a glance at the sky. Though it remained heavy with smoke, there was a small portion of the fog that swirled away and dissipated into nothing, allowing the stars to blink through once more. This one patch of clear sky stood out amongst all others, and Arthur noticed that it just so happened to be positioned directly over his savior's head. To him, it felt like this man had made it happen, as though his mere presence alone had the power to clear the sky of gray.

xxx

_To be continued…_

Oh Alfred, you're the world's greatest hero! Charging into burning buildings and all . . . does your awesomeness know no bounds? I enjoyed writing the interaction between Alfred and Arthur, which is good because there's lots more to come… *rubs hands together in anticipation*

So thanks for reading this chapter, and PLEASE REVIEW! It will give you a warm and fuzzy feeling on the inside.

Oh and I'm psyched cause next week's Thanksgiving break! So I'll have a whole week off from classes~~which means lots of time to write :D And the Harry Potter movie's coming out~~! So excited ^o^

Next Chapter: Arthur wakes up in the hospital . . . but he isn't alone! Also, Arthur finally learns Alfred's name, which makes me happy because I won't have to keep referring to him as "the man" or "the stranger" anymore!

See you guys then!


	3. Ch 3: Our Little Secret

Hello all :)

Wow, I noticed that several of you guys mentioned the unicorn plushie in your reviews! Apparently it's very popular (who doesn't love soft and squishy unicorn toys, after all?). I admit I have a thing for stuffed animals too (I cuddle with my crab plushie every night!). XD

**At StardustRudie: **As far as side pairings go, I do plan on having a few, but they won't show up till a little later in the story. I want to focus on Alfred and Arthur to begin with before I bring in the others (however, there will be other Hetalia characters brought in shortly, just not other pairings yet). I don't plan on focusing a huge amount of time on the side pairings, but they will be there. As for which ones they'll be…I'll leave you in suspense for now! XD

Also like to say to anyone who lives in/around/near the Napa Valley area to please forgive me if I have any inaccuracies about it in the story. I've never been there (or anywhere in California, for that matter...although I wish I could visit!), so I'm mainly just getting my info online. But I know online info isn't perfect (and neither am I), so sorry if I get anything wrong! Oh, and in case you're wondering, I actually live in Atlanta, GA, so I'm on the opposite side of the country…hence the reason I've never been to Cali! *cries* Thus, I am forced to live vicariously through my fanfiction and write about the place instead *hangs head in shame as she realizes she has no life*

And finally, thanks to all those who recently reviewed**: ****SnowGirl999, Liila6241, ImaduckQuaQua, tamaki-kun, StardustRudie, lunareclipse3, Vermilion Skies, LostDonut, akai, lonely-waltz, lisacreature, Guppyvis, alguien22792, trish01chiu, carousels, TheWonderBunny, and anonymous **:D

Ch 3: Our Little Secret

When Arthur next awoke, it was daylight outside, and the sun was peeking in through the curtains of his whitewashed room. He was lying in a hospital bed, and he noticed his arms and chest had been bandaged, even though his burns had not been that severe.

Sitting up, Arthur spotted his unicorn plushie on the table beside him. He thought of the night before and wondered what had happened to the man who had saved his life. Perhaps he was also somewhere in the hospital, being treated for his burns. Or maybe he had simply left. After all, Arthur hadn't really expected him to stay, although he found himself feeling a little bit depressed at the prospect of it . . .

_BAM! _Just then, the hospital door banged open, like somebody had kicked it in. Arthur practically jumped out of his bed at the sound of it, but then in came _him_—the very man who had rescued him yesterday.

"Hey, Arthur!"

"You—you nearly gave me a heart attack, you twit!"

"Haha! Is that any way to talk to your hero?"

"M-my—?"

"Well, I _did_ save your life."

Arthur couldn't disagree with that one. Letting out a sigh, he asked, "In that case, does 'my hero' have a name?"

"Alfred," the man answered, bounding forward to shake Arthur's hand. Of course, since he was holding a Hershey's bar in one hand and a Coca-Cola bottle in the other, this proved rather difficult. But after stuffing the candy bar in his mouth, he was able to reach forward and grasp Arthur's hand at last, repeating "Alfred F. Jones!" through a mouthful of chocolate.

_Jones?_ Arthur thought, taken aback. This man's name was the same as that of the wine company he had come to broker a deal with. But surely that had to be a coincidence. Jones was a very common surname in America, after all . . .

"So, how you holding up?" Alfred asked, taking another swig of Coke.

"I'm feeling better, thanks."

"Good, cause you _should _be, after all that sleeping. Man, I thought you'd _never_ wake up! I was getting so bored waiting around. It's a good thing they have snack machines here—"

"Well, _excuse me_ if I can't be as hyper and energetic as you," Arthur huffed, crossing his arms.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Alfred said, carelessly waving his hand. "Not many people can keep up with me!" For once, Arthur believed him. Where was he getting all that energy from anyway? His burns had been terrible, and his arms were wrapped in thick bandages, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down one bit. It reminded Arthur of those cowboy heroes from old American Western films: they'd get shot two or three times and just keep walking around like it was nothing. Arthur hadn't thought there was anybody like that in real life, but apparently he'd been mistaken. _Or maybe it's all those sugary foods he eats. _Yes, perhaps that was it.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Here," Alfred said, tossing Arthur his cell phone. "It fell out of your pocket last night. I think somebody's been trying to call you."

Arthur flipped the phone open. He had five missed calls, and they were all from his boss, Mr. Wemmick. Had he heard about the fire?

"By the way, the Doc says you can probably go home today," Alfred said. Arthur chuckled.

"My so-called 'home' is now nothing more than a smoking pile of debris," he said.

"Have you got anywhere else to go?"

"Not really."

"Then that settles it! You're coming home with me!" Alfred announced, shooting him a thumbs-up.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, you _are _here to do business with our company, so—"

"Wait, _your_ company? You—you mean you really _are_ from the Jones wine company?" Alfred nodded in reply, and Arthur felt like he had been hit over the head with a cinderblock.

"I didn't know who you were at first," Alfred admitted, enjoying the stunned expression on Arthur's face. "Then, when I told my family about the fire and all, they said you were here to meet with them on business. Some kind of a crazy coincidence, right?"

_Right, _Arthur thought, _just like the "coincidence" of me rooming on the thirteenth floor and then almost dying in a spontaneous fire. These things can't simply be accidents . . . _

Suddenly, Arthur's thoughts were scattered as Alfred's cell phone began going off. The ring tone was Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

"Hold up, I gotta take this," Alfred said, dashing out the door. "Be right back."

Once he was gone, Arthur tried desperately to make sense of what was happening. Alfred had pulled him out of that burning building—no, Alfred _Jones_, son of the Jones wine company owners, had pulled him out. And now, when Arthur had no place else to go, Alfred was offering to let him stay at their estate. But he'd have to be crazy to accept the offer of such a loud, annoying, and obnoxious American . . . and yet, he'd also have to be crazy _not _to accept it. The Jones's estate had to be a stunning place, and he was lucky to have the chance to stay there. His uncertainty had nothing to do with whether the estate itself was acceptable or not; instead, it had everything to do with whether the—how should he say it?—_residents _were acceptable. Particularly, he was worried about Alfred F. Jones. For some reason, the man made him incredibly nervous. He felt terrified of looking like a fool in front of him, and he kept getting tongue-tied during their conversation . . .

Just then, his own cell phone began to ring. Clapping it to his ear, he said, "Hello?"

"Arthur?" asked the man at the other end. It was his boss.

"Yes, sir, it's me," Arthur said. "I'm sorry I haven't been answering, but I—"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Mr. Wemmick interrupted. "But when I heard about the fire, I thought I'd better check to see how you're managing."

"Oh, I'm doing fine," Arthur replied. "But how did you hear about it, sir, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Why, the Joneses themselves gave me a ring," Mr. Wemmick answered. "Quite an unfortunate occurrence, if I do say so myself. But you're feeling better, eh?"

"Yes, I'll be released from the hospital today."

"Good to hear, m'boy! Will you be coming back to London then?"

"I—what?"

"Coming back to London," Mr. Wemmick repeated. "That is, I don't expect you'll want to continue your trip after all of this nastiness. It'll be last minute, but I can arrange for someone else to meet with the Joneses in your stead. Of course, if you're up to staying there, I won't stop you. You're one of the best I've got, Arthur, so I'll trust whatever you decide."

For a moment, Arthur found himself stricken silent. This was exactly the type of thing he had wanted all along—to be allowed the chance to go back home! If he had known it might be this easy, he would have just broken his leg back at the airport or something, and been done with it. But now, things were a tad more complicated than that. Now, he wasn't sure he wanted to go home so soon . . .

It was then that the door burst open again, announcing Alfred's return.

"Hey, so you ready to go yet?" Alfred asked.

"Hold on for just a moment, sir," Arthur told Mr. Wemmick. Then, placing a hand over the phone to muffle his voice, he barked, "Can't you see that I'm on the phone?"

"Yeah, well hang it up. My family's driver just called and said he's got the car waiting outside. All your luggage came in today, and it's already back at the estate. Here, I grabbed some extra clothes for you." He tossed a grocery bag at Arthur. "So hurry it up! Are you coming or what?"

"I—"

"Arthur? Arthur, are you still there?" came Mr. Wemmick's voice from the other end of the line. Arthur didn't answer because he _wasn't _there—not mentally, anyway. His thoughts were far away, chasing each other across his brain, and he was having a hard time pinning any of them down. He had two paths in front of him, but he had no idea which one to follow. He'd been leaning toward London before, but now Alfred was tugging him in an entirely new direction.

_Either way, I need to make a decision now_. Alfred clearly wasn't the patient type, and Arthur didn't want to keep his boss hanging on the line either. So he made it simple on himself. First, he thought of home—his apartment in London. His _empty _apartment in London, overlooking the street. He was fond of it, but he had to admit it could be a dreadfully lonely place sometimes. And then he thought of the Jones's estate. He had never been there, but he could imagine the lush, rolling hills and gentle, criss-crossing vineyards, plus the warm, fresh breezes and the savory scent of ripening grapes. It was summertime personified. It was the absence of loneliness. Because, above all else, he would no longer be by himself; Alfred would be there with him. And for some puzzling and maddening reason, this appealed to him. There was something intriguing about this man, and he wanted to know more. It was like tasting a sumptuous wine: he couldn't bring himself to stop at just the first sip.

"Arthur, are you there? Arthur, are you all right—?"

"Yes, I'm here," Arthur said, bringing the phone back to his ear. "And I've made my decision." He was talking to Mr. Wemmick, but he was looking at Alfred as he said it. "I don't think it's necessary for you to send a replacement. I can handle things here myself."

"Well, if you're sure," Mr. Wemmick replied. "That's fine by me. Just take care of yourself."

"Yes, I will. Thank you, sir," Arthur said before hanging up. From across the room, Alfred's mouth widened into a triumphant grin.

"I'll be waiting downstairs, so get a move-on!" he ordered, turning toward the door.

"Wait!" Arthur called after him.

"Hmm?"

"I—I just wanted to thank you," Arthur said, blood rushing to his face.

"Don't mention it."

"But I _am _mentioning it," Arthur went on, unable to look Alfred in the eye. "You saved my life after all, so I just wanted you to know that you have my gratitude."

At this, Alfred only smiled and winked, like he knew how hard it was for Arthur to admit this, and he was promising it would be their little secret—theirs and no one else's.

xxx

_To be continued…_

Well, that's it for chappie three :) In case you're wondering, I got the name "Wemmick" from Charles Dickens _Great Expectations _(one of my favorite books!). Wemmick isn't even a hugely important character in there, but I like him the best 'cause he's so funny. I also relate to him better than any other character in literature, mainly because he acts like one person at work and then a completely different person at home! That's exactly like me, since I act very quiet and reserved in public, but I'm crazy at home XD Anyway, I just picked the name as a sort of homage to him, and if you figured that out before I mentioned this, you deserve a cookie! *hands one over*

Also, I made Alfred's ringtone "Thriller" because I thought he'd probably like that…I mean, he does kind of like horror-type stuff (even though it freaks him out), and anyway I love Michael Jackson songs, so why not? Not sure what Arthur's ringtone would be…A Beatles song maybe? XD Any suggestions?

This chapter was kinda short, but I promise the next one will be longer! Speaking of which…

Next Chapter: Alfred takes Arthur home with him *squee!* Also, a new Hetalia character shows up! Who could it be? Hint: If he were a superhero, his power would be invisibility and his sidekick would be a polar bear…well if that doesn't give it away then nothing will.

Don't forget to REVIEW, and see you all next chapter!

And Happy Thanksgiving! (Even if you're not in the US)


	4. Ch 4: The Secret Garden

Hello again :) Time for another chapter!

Once again, a big thanks to everyone who reviewed: **Liila6241, Farsi, ImaduckQuaQua, Car, SilverKitChase, MelodyOfStarshine, trish01chiu, StardustRudie, helicoptersky, Scorpling, Sha-Lin, Nyasar-tan, Helisse, and MorriganFearn (thanks for such a long review!). **

**At helicoptersky: Yep, I'm actually a student at Georgia State right now XD Small world, eh? And I was kind of thinking about The Great Gatsby when I was picturing the Jones's estate, so you were right on target there! The Great Gatsby is one of my favorite books :)**

**At Sha-Lin: I don't know Spanish, but thanks to google translator, I think I understand your comment! I don't mind if you want to review in English or Spanish, so whatever makes you happy is fine with me :D **

**Disclaimer: **Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Now, without further ado…

Chapter Four: The Secret Garden

"So, whataya think?"

Alfred and Arthur were standing at the threshold of the Jones's estate, staring up at—or in Arthur's case, _gaping_—up at the main house, a grandiose Georgian mansion situated alongside miles of rolling hills and vineyards. The enormous, immaculate house was completely white in color, with hand-carved woodwork details and broad, spacey windows. A front porch ran the house's length, while glass-encased sunrooms flanked its sides. Overall, the house had a comfortable, easy-going air about it. It was the kind of place that seemed to welcome visitors in all on its own, and it was unquestionably one of the loveliest houses Arthur had ever seen.

"It's nice," he said, in answer to Alfred's question.

"Just nice?" Alfred repeated, starting up the path toward the front porch. "You're a hard one to please, Arthur."

"I merely have fastidious tastes, that's all."

"So in other words, you're a snob."

"I am _not_, you loud-mouthed, insolent little—!"

"Okay, okay, calm down! I was only joking," Alfred interrupted, laughing.

"Oh, so you find it funny, do you?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.

"No, but I find your face funny. Your expression, I mean—it's priceless! You get all red, like a tomato . . . a tomato with bushy eyebrows."

"A _tomato_? How dare you compare me to something like that!" Arthur growled, swatting viciously at Alfred with his bag.

"Hey, hey!" Alfred yelped, throwing up his hands to shield himself. "I get it! So you can quit already!"

"Fine," Arthur said, reluctantly lowering his bag, "so long as you refrain from comparing me to anymore vegetables—or fruits, or whatever the hell they are."

"If you insist," Alfred agreed, chuckling. "Although it wasn't really an insult. I happen to like tomatoes a lot, y'know." With a wink, he turned and headed for the mansion's front doors. Arthur hung behind, blood rushing to his face.

_Now I probably look like a bloody tomato again_, he thought, trying to shake the color from his face.

"Hey, you coming?" Alfred called.

In response, Arthur dashed toward the porch. Alfred was one of the most infuriating men he had ever met—there was no denying that. So then, why _was_ it that he found himself so eagerly rushing toward him?

xxx

Inside, the mansion's decor proved equally as stunning as its exterior. Alfred led Arthur on a brief tour of the house, but even this took a fair amount of time, considering how many rooms the place had. It was like a never-ending labyrinth of doors and hallways and passages; Arthur felt sure he would have gotten himself lost if he hadn't had Alfred there to guide him.

As the two weaved in and out of rooms, Alfred threw out a sentence description about each, like "That's the dining room" or "Those stairs lead to the cellar, but I never go down there, 'cause it's creepy." In fact, the pair flitted about so quickly that Arthur scarcely had time to admire the rooms. He did notice, however, that much of the furniture looked antique; the wooden pieces were all of a dark oak variety, while the rugs featured intricate, arabesque designs. Crown molding framed all of the rooms, and the glass chandeliers were as intricate as they were flawless. In fact, _flawless _was the only proper word for the entire house: there wasn't a single vase or picture frame out of place. It almost seemed too perfect to be true.

"Here it is," Alfred said at last, leading Arthur into an upstairs room. "This is yours."

The room was of a generous size, and its appearance mirrored the others in the house. Furniture-wise, there was a wardrobe, a desk, a little table with a lamp, and a Queen-sized bed. Pulling back the window's cream-colored curtains, Arthur saw that it afforded him a perfect view of the backyard gardens.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, I think I'll be quite comfortable here," Arthur said, setting his bag on the floor. Immediately, Alfred lunged for the bag and pulled out Arthur's unicorn plushie.

"Let's hope your unicorn likes it too," he said, waving the stuffed animal around.

"Hands off!" Arthur snapped, snatching it away from him. "I didn't give you permission to touch her! But go ahead and make your jokes about it if you like. I'm sure you're dying to do so."

"Lighten up, Arthur," Alfred said, crossing his arms. "I wasn't gonna make fun of you. I don't have a problem with the unicorn. I mean, everybody has a favorite toy . . . I still have an alien named Tony. And Matthew has a teddy bear named Kumakichi or Kumajirou or something. He still carries it around with him—"

"Matthew?" Arthur interrupted. "Who's Matthew?"

"Oh, just my brother."

"You failed to mention you have a brother."

"Well, I guess I just forgot about him for a little while," Alfred said, laughing. "Don't worry, it happens all the time." Arthur raised his eyebrows, but Alfred failed to notice. "Anyway, you wanna meet him?"

"I suppose so, if he's not too busy—"

"Great! Come on!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing Arthur's arm and tugging him down the hall. "MATTHEW! Hey Matthew, where are you?"

"Alfred, I think—"

"Hold on, Arthur, I'm calling for Matthew. MATTHEW! There's somebody I want you to meet! Come on, where—?

"Turn around, you bloody fool!" Arthur yelled, finally managing to gain Alfred's attention.

"Whoa man, no need to yell!" Alfred said, turning. "I'm not deaf—oh, there you are Matthew!"

"He's been standing here for the last few minutes, you dolt!" Arthur barked.

"Geez, no need to get so worked up about it," Alfred replied. "You could have just told me he was there."

"I—"

"Sorry," Matthew interrupted, attempting to divert an impending brawl, "I tried to tell you, Alfred, but you were yelling so loudly that I don't think you could hear me . . ."

"Oh, well that's why I'm always telling you to speak up, Matthew," Alfred said, going over and clapping his brother on the back (a little more harshly than he had intended to, but Alfred didn't exactly know his own strength). "Anyway, this is Arthur Kirkland. And Arthur, this is my brother Matthew."

"Hello," Matthew said. "It's very nice to meet you." His voice was almost a whisper, so Arthur had to listen carefully to catch what he was saying.

_How odd_, he thought, _they're nearly exact opposites. _Matthew seemed far more soft-spoken than Alfred, even though his appearance was very similar to his brother's. His hair was slightly darker and longer, and he was carrying around the white polar bear stuffed animal that Alfred had mentioned, but apart from that, the brothers were almost identical.

"Are you two twins?" Arthur asked.

"No, I'm actually a year younger," Matthew said.

"People mistake us for twins all the time," Alfred added. "But he's still in high school."

"I'll be graduating on Friday, though," Matthew reminded him.

"Oh yeah, your graduation _is _this Friday, isn't it?" Alfred said, snapping his fingers. "I almost forgot!"

"Well, that's nothing new," Matthew mumbled, although Alfred couldn't hear him. But even so, Arthur could see that Matthew wasn't really that upset with his brother.

_After all, I'm sure he's used to it by now_, Arthur thought.

"So you're from the Wemmick Liquor Company, Arthur?" Matthew asked. Arthur nodded. "I've heard a lot about your company—"

"Come on, Matthew, don't grill him about business on his first day here," Alfred interrupted. "Besides, we're going on a tour of the vineyards now."

"Sounds like fun," Matthew said, having the good sense not to argue with Alfred about it. "In that case, I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, see you later then! Let's go, Arthur!" Once again, Arthur found himself being dragged along down the hall, rather like some sort of a life-sized rag doll.

"Pleasure to meet you, Matthew!" Arthur called back, while he still had the chance.

"Likewise!" Matthew replied. Or at least that's what Arthur _thought_ he said. He couldn't really be sure, what with the way Matthew whispered.

_So one of them screams and the other whispers, _Arthur thought as Alfred steered him out the back door. _Has this family never heard of a happy medium?_

xxx

"So why was Matthew so keen on chatting about business?" Arthur asked, following Alfred across the mansion's backyard.

"Huh? Oh, well he's pretty into that business stuff," Alfred said. For once, he didn't sound like his usual cheery self.

"And you aren't so interested in this 'business stuff' yourself, I take it?" Arthur guessed, fairly sure he had hit the nail on the head. At his words, Alfred stopped in his tracks, a reaction that only served to reinforce Arthur's assumptions.

"It's not that I don't value the family business," Alfred said, far-off gaze focused on the clouds. "It's just that . . . well, I guess I'm not as passionate about it as my parents want me to be. Matthew's the one who likes all of that, but our parents don't seem to notice . . ."

"You mean they're excluding Matthew from the business?"

"Not completely," Alfred clarified. "But they're keener on me taking over than him. I guess it's cause I'm the older one. And they think Matthew's too quiet and soft to run a business."

"He _is_ rather reserved," Arthur admitted. "How is it that he turned out so mild-mannered? Especially with someone like _you _for a brother?"

"You mean how did he turn out so shy when he had someone as awesome as me to look up to?" Alfred interpreted, and Arthur didn't waste time trying to correct him. "I used to wonder about that too. But then I figured out it must be 'cause he was born when my parents were on vacation in Canada."

"Oh, now it all makes perfect sense," Arthur scoffed. Naturally, Alfred failed to detect his sarcasm.

"I know, right? He's more Canadian than anything. He's even going to college up there. I forgot where, though . . . somewhere in Quebec, I think. Hey, speaking of Matthew, look at that!" Alfred paused to point at a tree-house across the yard. "Matthew and me used to play there all the time when we were little." With that, Alfred set a course for the tree.

_He's back to normal, I suppose, _Arthur thought, watching Alfred run circles about the tree. Still, he'd caught a glimpse of something heavier within Alfred . . . something more serious. Alfred acted like he didn't have a care in the world, but there was clearly something weighing on him. It sounded like it had something to do with the family business. Arthur wished he could find out more—not because he was nosy, but because he wanted to help if he could. However, he didn't feel it was his place to ask. Not yet, anyway. He could see right through Alfred, but for now, he wouldn't let Alfred know it.

"Pretty sweet tree-house, right?" Alfred asked, interrupting Arthur's thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh yes—very nice," Arthur said, glancing up at the tree. Actually, the tree-house didn't really look all that impressive. Its wooden planks were coming loose and its roof was starting to cave in. The only thing remarkable about it was that it hadn't completely collapsed after all these years.

"When we weren't playing up there, Matthew and me used to dig for buried treasure around here," Alfred went on, face lighting up with the memory of it. Arthur had to admit Alfred looked rather charming when he put on a face like that—a child's face, full of innocent joy.

"And did you ever come across any treasure during your hunts?" Arthur asked, smiling despite himself.

"Mostly we just dug up rocks and bottle tops," Alfred said. "But we did find some Spanish doubloons once."

"Well, you can't expect—wait, _Spanish doubloons_?"

"Yeah, we were all excited about it too, until we found out our dad was just burying them around the backyard for us to find." As Alfred donned his finest pouting face, Arthur burst out laughing.

"Hey, it's not funny!"

"Oh, but it is!" Arthur argued. "It's your—how did you put it before?—oh yes, your _expression_. It's priceless."

Alfred's pouting-face endured for a few more seconds, just before shifting into a grin.

"I guess I deserved that, so I'll let you off easy," he began, "but we're even now." Arthur nodded, pleased with himself. Alfred, also satisfied, turned away and noticed another tree nearby, this one with an old tire swing dangling from it.

"Ah man, I remember this!" Alfred exclaimed, stepping toward it. "I used to try all sorts of dangerous tricks on this thing. I used to push Matthew in it too, but he never seemed to be having as much fun as me. He always complained about going too fast, even though I was pushing him so slowly!"

"Perhaps your definitions of 'slow' aren't quite the same," Arthur pointed out. In his head, he could picture a young Alfred pushing the tire swing with all his might—and a young Matthew crying out and clutching his teddy bear for dear life.

_That's probably the reason he's so quiet_, Arthur thought._ He was traumatized into silence by Alfred._

"So, you wanna see the gardens now?" Alfred asked, suddenly switching gears again. It was clear he had the attention span of a house-fly. In fact, it made Arthur want to recommend him a good medication for ADD.

xxx

The "gardens," as Alfred called them, were located just beyond the mansion's backyard. They served as a sort of prelude to the vineyards, as one had to walk through the gardens in order to reach the grapes. And although the gardens were small by comparison, they certainly made the most of their space. All of the bushes, shrubs, and flowers were nestled closely together, stems intertwining with one another as they grew. However, it wasn't as though the place had simply been left to its own devices: the weeds had all been plucked, the pathways had been swept clear of leaves, and the shrubbery had been trimmed down to size. Rather, it was more of an organized chaos.

Making his way down the path, Arthur noticed the gardens seemed a very private place, especially when compared with the mansion's open-aired backyard. Perhaps it was the way the trees seemed to haunch over, like they were purposely blocking out the noise and clamor of the outside world. Or maybe it had to do with the rows of lavender hedges which encircled the gardens, dutifully serving as protective walls. Or it could have been the silence and stillness that so pervaded the area, or the way the sunlight splashed against the pebbles at Arthur's feet . . .

_Oomph! _

"Wha—?" Arthur had been so entranced by the garden that he hadn't noticed where Alfred was standing, and he had walked straight into him. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Sorry?" Alfred repeated, blinking. "You mean you're not gonna start grumbling about how I should watch where I'm standing? Are you feeling all right, Arthur?"

"I'm just tired, that's all," Arthur said. "Nagging effects of the fire, I suppose . . ."

"Maybe you should sit down for a while," Alfred suggested, leading Arthur toward an out-of-the-way alcove. A wooden archway formed its skeleton, but that had been overtaken by vines and flowers. Now the area underneath was sheltered and shady. A swinging bench had been placed there, and Arthur and Alfred took their seats upon it.

Immediately, Alfred kicked off with his foot, propelling the swing into a rocking motion. Apparently he couldn't help himself: if there were swinging things involved, he needed to push them. However, he thoughtfully kept the swaying to a minimum, out of concern for Arthur.

For a while, the two of them sat in silence, Arthur still admiring the garden's appearance. The azaleas and rhododendrons were in full bloom, as were the rosebushes. There were flowers of every shade and color it seemed, from scarlet to violet to peach. When the breeze picked up, Arthur could smell their scents on the wind.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked again, after a few minutes had gone by.

"Yes, I'm fine," Arthur assured him. "It's just that your garden reminds me of that book _The Secret Garden_. My mum used to read it to me when I was a child. It was one of her favorite stories."

"Then maybe you should bring her here sometime—"

"That's quite impossible, considering she's dead," Arthur interrupted, a little more abruptly than he had intended to. For once, Alfred was at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say. "How did she . . . ?"

"Chronic disease," Arthur answered. "She had it for a long time, though she tried not to show it. . . . But I think she would have liked this place, with the gardens and all. Maybe if she could have come here, she would have gotten better, just like the boy in that story . . ." Arthur smiled, but it was a sad one. Alfred could see how much pain he was in, and he wanted so desperately to make it go away. Saving his body from that fire had been easy enough, so why couldn't saving his soul be just as simple? Slowly, he reached out his hand toward Arthur . . .

"Well, I think I'm going to retire to my room now," Arthur declared, suddenly standing up. He didn't want Alfred to see him in such a melancholy state. "I think I'll rest up a bit."

"If that's what you want," Alfred said. "I was gonna show you the vineyards, but I guess they can wait. I'll take you back—"

"I can find my own way back, thank you," Arthur told him, and without another word, he started off for the house. It wasn't really true, of course: he _didn't _know his way back, but after wandering around for a while, he finally spotted the mansion. Inside, he also managed to get himself lost a few times, somehow always winding up in broom closets or pantries, but eventually he reached his own room. There, he took hold of his unicorn plushie and plopped forward upon his bed. He hadn't meant to push Alfred away, but he didn't want to seem like a weakling; he was far too proud for that.

xxx

It was six o' clock in the evening when Arthur next awoke. To his delight, he found that his depression had dissipated, thanks to the healing powers of time and sleep. He had dozed off for a couple of hours, but now he was hungry, having not eaten anything for . . . actually, he couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten. So he reckoned he was about due for a meal now. The problem was, what should he eat? He knew that the Joneses probably had their own arsenal of chefs at the mansion, but Arthur didn't want to bother them. It would only be more of a hassle to ask for their help, so he decided he would just prepare something himself. He had always taken pride in his culinary skills, even though no one else seemed to recognize his talent. But that was only because they clearly had no taste. After all, what other reason could they possibly have for not acknowledging his genius?

Rummaging around in his luggage, Arthur pulled out a cookbook and a plaid apron. Then he checked the hallway carefully before tip-toeing down to the kitchen. This was the mansion's second kitchen, more miniature in size than the main one, but still formidable. Arthur chose it so that he might have some privacy. Thumbing through his cookbook, he came to the section on scones and looked over the ingredients. Luckily, the Jones's kitchen was stocked pretty well, so he was able to find everything he needed. He even came across a bowl of fresh blueberries, so he decided to make blueberry scones. After gathering all the necessary materials, he checked the hall one more time to be sure no one was around. He'd never live it down if anyone—especially Alfred—saw him in an apron. But the coast was clear, so he rolled up his sleeves and began measuring out the flour.

Once Arthur had finished mixing, kneading, and cutting the dough, he placed the uncooked scones in the oven and headed back to his room. He passed the time by reading a book until the scones were done, at which point he returned to the kitchen. After letting his scones cool off for a few minutes, they were all ready to be tasted.

xxx

"What is that smell?" Alfred wondered aloud, following the scent down the hallway. _It smells like the trash can exploded_. He had just returned to the house after polishing his car, and he couldn't figure out why the place suddenly smelled like a chemical waste dump.

_I hope Arthur's okay_, he thought, remembering the depressed look in his eyes. _Wait, what if he decided to poison himself or something? _

"Arthur! Hey, Arthur!" Alfred called. He could tell the scent was becoming more potent, and it seemed to be coming from the kitchen. "Arthur, where are—?" At that moment, Alfred turned the corner and spotted Arthur in the kitchen, with some kind of a sloppy, burnt-looking thing in his hands. But it actually looked like he was about to _eat _the thing! So, being the hero that he was, Alfred rushed forward and snatched the mass from Arthur's fingers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur growled.

"Stopping you from poisoning yourself!"

"I'm not trying to bloody poison myself, you imbecile!" Arthur snapped. "I was just about to eat one of the scones I cooked!"

"Scones?" Alfred repeated, glancing at the blackened thing in his hand. It didn't look like any scone he had ever seen. It might have been shaped like one, but the resemblance stopped there. Apparently, it was supposed to be a blueberry scone, but the blueberries looked all crushed and withered. Besides, the thing was emitting noxious fumes! Alfred began to wonder if it wasn't radioactive too. "You're seriously going to eat this?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Arthur asked sharply. "What makes you think I was trying to kill myself?"

"Well, it just smells like something died in here, that's all," Alfred said, enjoying the enraged look on Arthur's face. "But you're right. I shouldn't have assumed you were trying to commit suicide. 'Cause if you _were_, I don't think you would have chosen to die in that apron."

"I—you—!" Arthur couldn't finish his sentence, as he was too busy trying to hide his reddening face. Alfred couldn't help himself from laughing, whilst Arthur quickly untied his apron.

"Hey, don't do that! I think it looks cute on you," Alfred said.

"You can stop cracking jokes now."

"But it wasn't a—"

"Enough!" Arthur barked. "Laugh all you like, but I'm going to eat my supper now, if you don't mind."

"You call _that_ supper?" Alfred asked, cringing. "Those things would be better used as doorstops. How about you abandon them and eat something else? I was just gonna go out for dinner myself. Wanna join me?"

"Where to?" Arthur scoffed. "McDonald's?"

"Hey, don't insult Mickey D's! That's where I was eating last night, when your building caught fire. If it weren't for McDonald's, I wouldn't have noticed the fire, and I wouldn't have been able to swoop in and save you!"

Arthur sighed. Since he had been reminded of the rescue, he also remembered how indebted he was to Alfred.

"I suppose, if you really want to go . . ."

"Well, we're not actually going to McDonald's," Alfred clarified. "We're going to dinner and a movie!" He talked like it was already a sure thing because he knew that Arthur simply couldn't resist his invitation!

"Dinner _and _a movie?"

Alfred nodded. "A drive-in movie, actually."

"A drive-in? I didn't think there were any of those still left in America."

"Well, there aren't _too_ many, but there's one about an hour from here. If we leave now and I drive like a maniac, we can still make the eight o'clock showing!"

Arthur smiled. "I would object to the part about you driving like a maniac, but seeing as that's probably the way you always drive, I suppose there's really nothing I can do about it."

"I'll take that as a yes," Alfred announced, sporting a thumbs-up. "Don't worry. You won't be disappointed!" Then he turned and headed for the door, pretending not to notice the smile spreading across Arthur's lips.

xxx

_To be continued…_

Well, I promised this chapter would be longer, didn't I? XD It took forever to write…but I still enjoyed it. And we got to meet Canada too! Hurrah for poor little traumatized Canada :) He didn't appear for that long, but he will be coming back in future chapters, so never fear!

Speaking of Matthew and Kumajirou, I was out last week at the symphony orchestra, and they had this huge Christmas tree in the lobby that was decorated entirely in Coca-Cola style! They had coke bottles, coke ornaments, and stuffed animal polar bears…the bears looked exactly like Kumajirou! I thought to myself, "If Alfred and Matthew put up a tree together, it would look like this!" XD You know you're obsessed when you relate everything you see to Hetalia…

A few author notes:

I called the Jones's mansion a "Georgian" style house, which is actually Colonial Revival style, a style reminiscent of the houses built during the colonial era and around the time of the Revolutionary War. Of course this was in tribute to Alfred and Arthur's relationship :D I think Alfred's house looks kinda like this when we see it in the "Storage Room Cleaning" episodes too.

I actually looked up a recipe for blueberry scones when I was writing this. In that recipe, I pinpointed several places where I think Arthur would go wrong with it: "The only thing to remember is to gently fold the berries into the dough to prevent them from being crushed." Ha! I could picture Arthur just chucking 'em in there. And also: "Do not over mix the dough or the scones will be tough." At least you can use them as doorstops now XD

Oh, and as you probably know, _The Secret Garden _is a book by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Basically, there are a couple of kids in this book who are rather sickly, but when they start tending to the "secret garden," they find their health returning. Ah, the healing power of nature! If only everything in life could be so simple…

Next Chapter: Alfred and Arthur's first (sort of) date! At the good ol' drive-in movies, they go to see a classic horror flick (at Alfred's insistence, of course). And we also get to see Alfred's shiny car!

Don't forget to review :) I'm dying under the weight of final papers and tests in all my classes right now, so some reviews would really brighten up my week!

See you guys next chapter!


	5. Ch 5: Beware the Blob

Hey guys! Sorry this chapter's a bit overdue. I had a big paper to write for class, so I basically locked myself in my room for four days straight to work on it XD AND I had a final to study for, so I pulled an all-nighter and stayed up for 20 hours straight! (still don't know how I managed to keep from fainting). It seems I'm a hopeless procrastinator . . . but thanks to sugary candy bars, I was able to pull through and get it all done! Afterward, I came straight home and worked on this like a rabid maniac, cause I knew you guys were waiting for it . . . So be grateful! Lol

Speaking of gratefulness, time to thank everybody who reviewed: **alguien22792, ****Liila6241, PandasGoBOOMxoxo, Sha-Lin, ****MashednotHashed, ****IchigoMelon, The Dino that writes- Rawr, ImaduckQuaQua, Jessenia-chan, NowTouchTheSky, MeLaNch0LYdreams, Guppyvis, Eternally1Yours, and Tribute (anonymous)—**Thanks to all you guys!

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Ch 5: Beware the Blob

When Arthur first stepped out onto the Jones's front porch, he was met by a warm and drafty breeze. The night air was serene and sultry, but he didn't mind the temperature. The moon shone a golden-white, and the wind sent ripples across the distant fields, as though the blades of grass were whispering messages to one another. Everything seemed hushed—mellowed, even—and wrought with suppressed emotion. The mood was one of suspense; it seemed like the night was holding its breath, just waiting for the curtain to rise. Or perhaps Arthur was simply attributing such feelings to his environment because he himself was feeling this way. He was unusually apprehensive, but he didn't know why. It was just a drive-in movie, after all . . . and yet it didn't feel like that. It didn't feel that small. It felt like the start of something bigger, like the first drop of rain in a violent afternoon shower.

As Arthur glanced out across the lawn, his thoughts were interrupted by the blaring sound of a car's horn, and he turned to spot Alfred coming round the driveway in his recently-polished automobile. As Alfred hopped out of the car, Arthur went to meet him, not a bit surprised by the car's appearance: it was a classic bright red convertible, shiny and well cared-for. Leaning against the vehicle, Alfred stared expectantly at Arthur, as though waiting for him to faint from the sheer awesomeness of it all.

"It's nice," Arthur said, knowing such a plain compliment would annoy Alfred.

"Nice?" Alfred repeated, aghast. "Don't you know this is a 1984 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz!"

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Well, there were only about 3000 of these babies made between 1984 and 85, so they're pretty rare."

"If it's so valuable, are you sure you want to risk taking it out?"

"Of course!" Alfred replied, like it should have been insanely obvious. "What' the use of having an awesome car like this if I can't drive her around all the time?"

"Oh, that's right. Silly me," Arthur mocked, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot that showing off is one of your favorite hobbies."

"It's not _me_," Alfred corrected, patting the car fondly. "But _she _likes the attention."

"Then you two make a perfect match," Arthur mumbled under his breath, just as Alfred returned to his seat.

"Don't stand around there complaining, Arthur. If you really want a ride, hop in," Alfred said, revving up the engine.

"Should I draw up a will first?" Arthur asked, taking a seat beside him. "After all, I'm not entirely sure I'll survive the trip, considering your driving skills."

"Then I'll go slowly so you won't have to worry," Alfred assured him, just before slamming his foot against the accelerator.

xxx

Unsurprisingly, it took Arthur a little while to get to used to Alfred's driving—or rather, to get past the initial whiplash. But once his mind had come to terms with the realization that his life was in the hands of a maniac, he was able to loosen his iron grip on the seatbelt and strike up a conversation.

"So what film is it we're going to see?" he asked, raising his voice so that Alfred could hear him over the roar of rushing wind.

"Some horror movie," Alfred replied. He didn't need to raise his voice, as it was already naturally loud enough to drown out everything around him. "I dunno which one though. But that's better, right? You like surprises, don't you?"

"Not particularly," Arthur muttered.

"Well, you'll like this one," Alfred promised. "See, this drive-in always shows horror movies on Wednesday nights—really creepy ones, too. I used to drag Matthew out to watch them with me, just to see how scared he'd get." Alfred laughed, and Arthur felt another pang of sympathy for poor abused Matthew. "Anyway, then Mattie started stealing all my candy and hiding it someplace, saying he wouldn't tell me where it was unless I stopped forcing him to come out here."

_Good for him, _Arthur thought. _I should remember that one, in case I ever need to try it myself. _

"Hey, we're almost there!" Alfred announced, suddenly pointing at the road ahead. Indeed, they had finally made it to the drive-in (and in one piece, no less!), although there wasn't much to see. There was a screen set up and a few cars scattered about, but it felt more like a cheap imitation than a real drive-in. Still, Alfred seemed thrilled, and Arthur soon realized why: as soon as the car was parked, Alfred jumped out and made a bee-line for the concession stand.

"God only knows what he'll come back with," Arthur mumbled. His own stomach was growling, having been deprived of the "tasty" scones he had cooked. He knew Alfred would come back with a truckload of food; he just wasn't sure if he trusted Alfred's judgment on what kind of food that would be.

As he waited for Alfred to return, Arthur glanced about the lot, still unimpressed with the crowd. There were a few teenagers standing around smoking, and the guys in their cars all seemed to be making out with their girlfriends. The atmosphere wasn't the greatest, but all Arthur could do was wait it out. The movie shouldn't take _too_ long, and then this long day would finally come to an end . . .

"Hey, come on Arthur, take some of this stuff before I drop it!" Alfred ordered upon his return; in his arms, he was balancing an assortment of hamburgers and hot dogs, buckets of popcorn, miniature pizzas, French fries, candy bars, and Cokes. Arthur wasn't sure how he was managing it all, but after easing his load by taking a few of the soft drinks and candy bars, Alfred plopped back down into his seat.

"Phew! That was close! I thought I was gonna drop one of these hamburgers for sure!"

"What a terrible tragedy _that _would have been."

"I know, right?" Alfred said, not catching Arthur's sarcasm. He was too busy stuffing his mouth. "Here, have some!" Ordinarily, Arthur would have swatted away the hamburger Alfred was shoving at him, but since he was so unbearably hungry, he silently accepted. It was a greasy, messy creation slathered with ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise, but it could have been worse. Even the fries weren't so bad, although Arthur did wish he had some tea to wash it down with, instead of just Coke.

_Ah well, one can't always get what one wants, I suppose. _He shot a glance back at Arthur, who had by now devoured enough burgers to feed a small army. _Unless you're Alfred F. Jones, of course. Then you _always _get what you want_.

Arthur was very nearly full by the time the movie was ready to start, although Alfred was still going strong. Arthur wondered if he would be able to hear the film over the sound of Alfred's chomping. But when the screen lit up, Alfred managed to quiet down, eagerly awaiting the movie's title. Even Arthur was a bit anxious over it. He wasn't one to be scared by horror films, but he just hoped the film wasn't one of those gory ones with pools of blood and dismembered limbs scattered all over the place. He didn't really want to see any of that while he was eating. However, as soon as the film's opening music started, Arthur realized he had nothing to worry about.

"What _is _this?" Arthur cried, taken aback by the film's upbeat jive music. As soon as the credits started to roll, he could tell that this film was old—as in 1950's old. A _classic _horror film, but certainly not one that Arthur would have considered very frightening. It was _The Blob_, that old cheesy American horror flick that everyone always treated as a joke. Arthur couldn't stop himself from laughing out loud.

"What's so funny?" Alfred asked, tone accusatory.

"Nothing," Arthur began, "It's just that you told me this was going to be a _scary _film. I thought it might be a bit gory, but it's just some old ridiculous—"

"It's not ridiculous! Old movies are a lot creepier than gory films!" Alfred interrupted, waving his candy bar about in demonstration. "Anyway, just wait till the blob starts eating people. _Then_ we'll see who's scared."

"Fine, but I'm guessing this music is probably the scariest it will get," Arthur remarked, finding the lively tune more and more annoying by the second. And now there were lyrics to go with it too! _Beware of the blob, it creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the floor right through the door and all around the walls, a splotch, a blotch, be careful of the blob . . . _

"Honestly, were the composers even aware that they were writing for a horror film? The song doesn't do much to set the mood," Arthur grumbled.

"You complain too much, Arthur," Alfred said. "Lighten up. The movie's _really _starting now." As the film's title faded away, Alfred grabbed for the popcorn, and Arthur crossed his arms, further sinking into his "British movie critic" mode. It wasn't that difficult to find things to critique, either. For one, the movie opened with a pair of "teenagers" kissing.

"Are they honestly trying to pass those two off as teenagers?" Arthur said. It was clear the two actors were much older than that. "If those two are teenagers, I'll eat my hat—"

"Just shut up and watch the movie, Arthur," Alfred said, stuffing a hot dog into Arthur's mouth. After nearly choking on the thing, Arthur decided to hold his tongue for a while. But just a _little _while_._

Now the "teenagers"—Steve and Jane—had just witnessed a falling star.

"Oh, so _that's _where the blob's going to come from," Arthur began, chuckling darkly. "What _is_ it with Americans and outer space? Must every film involve aliens—?"

"You're just jealous 'cause England can't make any good alien movies."

"I am _not_—"

"Shh! This is the part where they find the blob!" Alfred hunkered down to watch the screen like a waiting hawk as Arthur grumbled unintelligibly to himself. The shooting star containing "the blob" had landed near an old man's house, and he had gone out to see what it was. As he searched, the typical spine-tingling horror music began to play, and Alfred started shivering. Finally, when the man managed to locate the blob, Arthur watched in amazement as he started poking it with a stick.

"Oh, now _there's_ a splendid idea!" Arthur exclaimed. "An unidentified meteor's just fallen in my backyard, so I think I'll go poke it with a stick! Honestly, he deserves to be the first casualty of this film." Arthur expected some kind of a rebuttal from Alfred, but the latter was too busy shivering and whispering "Don't do it!" as the man continued to poke at the blob.

_Is he seriously frightened? _Arthur couldn't see how anyone could consider this movie "creepy," but Alfred didn't seem to have the same opinion. _If he's this scared now, I wonder how he'll react when—_

But Arthur never had a chance to finish his thought. The blob in the movie had just grabbed at the old man, and at the exact same time, Alfred had let out a shriek and grabbed at Arthur.

"What are you—? Get—get off me!" Arthur barked, but Alfred held fast around his shoulders, trembling and not even daring to look up at the screen. It happened so fast that Arthur barely had time to compute it; the blood rushed to his face and all he knew was that the feeling felt foreign to him. He couldn't tell if the sensation were a pleasant or unpleasant one, but it was certainly unfamiliar, and Arthur typically did his best to avoid unfamiliar things whenever possible. So he said, "Look, there's nothing to be afraid of! The old man isn't even dead, you bloody fool!" and Alfred, unaware of this, released him.

"Oh, he isn't?" Alfred glanced up at the screen. The teenagers were taking the old man to see a doctor. "Man, I thought he was going to get devoured for sure . . . I guess that's coming up later." With this, Alfred leaned back in his seat, munching on popcorn as though nothing at all had happened. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"So if the blob starts 'devouring' someone else, are you going to attack me again?" Arthur asked, a little more harshly than intended. He wasn't angry with Alfred, but he still felt flustered over the whole thing, and it was making him act even more moody than usual.

"Well, since you have a problem with it, I won't bother," Alfred replied, assuming from Arthur's tone of voice that he was angry over it. "Besides, it wasn't like I was scared or anything. I just thought you were, and I didn't want you to freak out and start screaming, so that's the only reason . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. But of course, Arthur wasn't buying it. He knew _Alfred_ had been the frightened one.

_Now I realize why he used to drag Matthew up here with him, _Arthur thought. It wasn't that Alfred had wanted to terrorize his brother; it was just that he was too frightened to watch the movies by himself. Ordinarily, it would have made for a great subject to tease Alfred about—being scared of cheesy old horror flicks—but somehow, Arthur didn't quite feel like using it against him. In fact, Arthur actually found it more endearing than laughable. Since Alfred seemed so perfect all of the time, it was refreshing to find out that he too possessed a few embarrassing qualities, just like anyone else.

As the film progressed, the blob continued to grow, and Arthur kept stealing glances over at Alfred, wondering if he was going to snap and try to grab him again. But Alfred seemed to be keeping his cool. If he had decided to be honest with himself, Arthur would have realized that he found this fact just a little bit disappointing . . . maybe he didn't mind having Alfred's strong arms around him after all. . . . But he was not ready to admit such things to himself, so he focused his attention on keeping his guard up, bracing himself against anymore surprise attacks. He refused to let himself get so flustered again. However, he was never given a chance to test his resolve, as Alfred kept quiet for the time being.

The movie reel wound onward, and the blob finally devoured the old man (to which Alfred remarked "I told you he was a goner!"). Now, it was setting its sights on the nurse and doctor. For the first time, the blob was shown fully—in all its glory—a pulsating, disgusting dark reddish mass plopping and flopping across the floor.

"Hey, it looks like your cooking, Arthur!" Alfred remarked.

_Poof! _All of Arthur's previous feelings of endearment toward Alfred suddenly vanished into thin air.

"What the hell did you just say, you bloody tart!" Arthur roared, shooting Alfred a merciless glare. When Alfred merely laughed in response, Arthur's mind began to string together a set of curses the likes of which it had never before attempted whilst sober. Fortunately, Arthur never got the chance to articulate any of them.

"Hey, can you keep it down? I'm tryin' to watch a movie here!" a man yelled from a nearby car, and Arthur, suddenly realizing his behavior was quite unbecoming of a gentleman, relinquished his attack and sunk back into his seat. He had to settle for, "That _thing _looking nothing like my cooking. It bears a far greater resemblance to strawberry jam."

"Don't say that!" Alfred exclaimed, shaking his head. "Now I won't be able to put jam on my toast for a year!"

"Serves you right," Arthur grumbled, glad he had achieved some small degree of revenge. Satisfied with himself, he reached out for some popcorn from the bucket Alfred was clutching to his chest. At the same exact time, Alfred reached down to grab a fistful of popcorn, and for a moment, their hands met. Arthur quickly pulled away, but Alfred didn't seem to notice anything at all. Once again, the blood began to rise toward Arthur's face.

_Damn it, why does this keep happening? _he wondered, looking away to be sure Alfred wouldn't see him like this. He still felt quite cross over the cooking comment, and he was becoming even more annoyed with Alfred by the second. The man didn't seem to be affected by anything, while Arthur was constantly trying to mask his reactions . . .

Suddenly, Alfred began to laugh, and Arthur looked up. On screen, the doctor had already been devoured, and the police had come to investigate his office. They asked the old porter woman who lived upstairs if she'd heard anything, but all she said was, "Sure I did. Tonight and every other night. The people downstairs have those old movies on the television. There's always some shooting or screaming."

"Man, can you believe that?" Alfred asked, continuing to laugh. "I mean, the blob was eating the doctor, and she didn't even notice! How oblivious can you get?"

Shooting Alfred a sideways glance, Arthur replied, "Indeed. Hard to believe some people could be _that _oblivious, isn't it?" Of course, Alfred didn't catch the hidden meaning behind this, just like he hadn't noticed how flustered he'd made Arthur by grabbing hold of him. And just like he hadn't realized how their hands had met in the popcorn tub . . .

Apparently, some people really _were _that oblivious.

A few more scenes passed by, and the teenagers and their friends decided to try and warn the town about the blob.

"Oh, that will work," Arthur muttered as the teenagers attempted to go from house to house and convince people there was a giant blob of strawberry jam after them. At one point, one of the teenaged couples went to a party and tried to warn all the half-drunk party-goers about the monster, to which the party's host announced, "Hey folks, I want you to meet Paul Revere. And this is Mrs. Revere. They say they've come to give us a warning about something important. The British are coming!" As the party-goers broke into laughter, Alfred joined them, nudging Arthur with his elbow.

"Nice joke, right Arthur?"

"Ha ha, what a laugh," Arthur grumbled. "I'm glad we Brits are a constant source of amusement for Americans."

"Of course you are!" Alfred laughed, stretching his arm around Arthur's shoulder. It was a gesture that didn't go unnoticed. At once, Arthur looked away, trying to act as cavalier as possible, but it was no use. Alfred's skin felt like fire against his own; he had to make a conscious effort to keep himself from trembling at it. The whole thing annoyed him to no end: why should he be so sensitive to Alfred's touch? He'd brushed hands with other people before, but it had never felt like _this_.

On screen, the blob was oozing toward the teenagers through a crack in the door, but Arthur didn't notice. He was too preoccupied with the temperature. When had it gotten so stifling out here? But suddenly, just as Arthur was beginning to feel he could stand it no longer, Alfred broke away to point up at the screen.

"Hey Arthur, are they supposed to be British?"

"Hmm?" Arthur transferred his attention back to the film.

"That girl's family," Alfred said, referring to the teenage girl's parents and little brother. "They kinda sound British, but I can't tell."

After listening for a few seconds, Arthur answered, "If they are, then it's nothing more than a cheap American imitation. But I can't tell for sure if that's what they're aiming at."

Alfred didn't seem too satisfied with this answer. He listened carefully to the screen, but he couldn't quite tell from the little boy's voice. The kid was trying to warn his parents against the monster, to which his father replied, "Has everyone in this fool town gone crazy!"

"Hey, I think they _are _supposed to be British!" Alfred exclaimed. "That guy acts just like you do, Arthur!"

"Oh really?" Arthur began, glaring at Alfred. "Well, if I had to cast _you _in the film, I'd give you the part of the blob, considering the rate at which you devour everything around you!" Arthur gestured to the empty pizza boxes, popcorn buckets, and candy bar wrappers as evidence for his case. "Soon you'll grow as fat as that monster too."

"I'm not fat!" Alfred insisted, patting his stomach. "This is all muscle! I work out all the time! _You're _the scrawny one! You need to eat more. Here, eat this." Alfred scooped up the last candy bar and tried to stuff it into Arthur's mouth.

"No, I don't want it, you wanker!" Arthur yelled, trying to push Alfred's hands away.

"Come on, just eat it!"

"No!" Arthur leaned backward to move away from the hovering chocolate, but Alfred matched him by leaning forward. He was uncomfortably close to Arthur now. Panicking, Arthur began to protest even louder against the chocolate, until he was interrupted yet again by the man in the nearby car.

"Hey, keep it down or get a room!" the man shouted.

"W-what?" Arthur gasped, abruptly pushing Alfred away. "It—it's not like that!" But his words sounded hollow, even to himself. Mortified, he funneled his frustrations toward Alfred. "Look what you did!" he whispered. "You caused a scene!"

"Don't get so worked up over it," Alfred replied, casually dismissing the incident with a wave of his hand. "Who cares what that guy says?"

"Clearly not you," Arthur mumbled, turning his attention back to the film. Anything to keep his mind off of Alfred. But of course, his attempts were all in vain.

_Is that what people are thinking? That the two of us are here on a date? They're getting entirely the wrong idea . . . we're simply here as friends, after all—I mean, well, we're not exactly friends yet, are we? I've only known him for a day . . . so we're here as business colleagues then. Yes, that's right. We're just business colleagues here to watch a drive-in movie together. _Arthur paused for a moment after realizing that his conclusion made no sense whatsoever. As far as he knew, business colleagues didn't often go to drive-in movies together. _So perhaps we're friends after all. But nothing more. And we're certainly not . . . of course we're not – not anything more . . ._

On screen, the blob was attacking a diner, and the police were trying to figure out how to stop it. Arthur felt he'd rather be trapped in the diner with the blob descending upon him than trapped in Alfred's car with all these cloudy emotions. He was about ready for the night to be over, and thankfully, the movie's end came swiftly; the police realized the blob's weakness was cold air, so they froze it and dropped it off in the Arctic. The policeman remarked, "It can't be killed. But at least we've got it stopped." And the teenager replied, "Yeah, as long as the Arctic stays cold."

"Oh snap!" Alfred proclaimed, "Global warming!"

"There, you see?" Arthur chipped in. "That's why you Americans should stop polluting the atmosphere with your oversized cars and—"

"No way!" Alfred interrupted. "I like driving my awesome car!"

Arthur sighed. "You'll never learn, will you?"

Alfred just winked at him. "Nope."

As Arthur tried to hide an involuntary smile, Alfred gathered up all the scattered food wrappers and left to toss them in the trash.

_So it's finally over_, Arthur thought. He wasn't sure what to make of the night. He was still confused over the strange way he had reacted to Alfred's gestures . . . but perhaps this was all just a fluke. He was still feeling a bit weak over the whole fire incident, so maybe that had something to do with it. But by tomorrow, he knew his senses would return to him.

_That's right, none of this will happen again, _he reassured himself, just as Alfred returned to take the wheel.

As the two sped off toward the Jones's estate, Alfred asked, "So, that was pretty fun, right?"

"It wasn't too intolerable," Alfred admitted.

"Coming from you, that's practically a compliment," Alfred said, laughing. "So you liked the movie?"

"It was all right." Truth was, Arthur hadn't paid attention to half of it. It wasn't the movie he was complimenting. It was the company.

xxx

Author's Notes: So there you have it! I gotta admit, this chapter was pretty fun to write XD I liked including the Blob stuff. I watched that whole movie on youtube in preparation to write this. And seriously, I still can't figure out if that girl's family was supposed to be British or not! I know _she _wasn't, but the kid and parents kinda sounded like it . . . I suppose I'll never know, and it'll continue to annoy the crap out of me for the rest of eternity. Speaking of which, the blob song at the beginning of the movie is pretty annoying too XD

So here's a fun fact: there actually _is _a real drive-in movie theater in Concord, CA, not too far from Napa Valley! However, it only shows recent movies, so it wouldn't be showing something like _The Blob_. But whatever, I have creative license after all XD Anyway, it's called the "Solano Drive-In" and I have no idea what it's really like, but yeah, just wanted to let you guys know that I do research some of this stuff!

Also, in case you're wondering why I choose Alfred's car to be the 1984 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz . . . well, 1984 is the year "The Boys of Summer" song first came out (the original Don Henley version). And the song mentions a Cadillac, so I looked up what Cadillac convertible existed in 1984 and that was it! Apparently there really weren't that many made, so it's a sought after car for collectors (If you can believe Wikipedia).

Next Chapter: Arthur has a business meeting with some executives from the Jones's wine company, but for some reason, he keeps feeling distracted . . . oh YEAH that's cause a certain American stud happens to be in the room with him . . .

Well, I hope you enjoyed the chappie :) If so, please let me know with a REVIEW! (Remember how hard I worked on this?) So REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! Please and thank you :D

See you next chapter~~~


	6. Ch 6: Strictly Business

So . . . sorry about how long it took to get this chapter out. But with Christmas madness and all that, I was feeling too lazy to do anything XD My friend got me these really cute Hetalia figurines for Christmas too, so blame it all on them! lol

And now a big thanks to everybody who reviewed: **TheWonderBunny, MashednotHashed, ****PandasGoBOOMxoxo, ImaduckQuaQua, TheNinjaWangsta, IchigoMelon, Liila6241, Tribute, LostDonut, Guppyvis, alguien22792, cat'akai, BubblegumKitsch, ToastWeaselofDOOM, Hana1225, and Anon!**

At **LostDonut**: Yeah, sorry if I made any mistakes regarding Arhtur vs Alfred (why do their names both have to start with the letter A?) I always read over the chapters and try to catch any mistakes, but sometimes they slip by me…so I apologize! *bangs head with frying pan as self-punishment*

At **TheNinjaWangsta**: Attack of the Killer Tomatoes? I totally just pictured Spain and Romano watching that XD Aah, tomatoes . . . I always knew they were secretly evil . . .

And yes, you should all go watch The Blob on youtube! It will give you some disturbing nightmares X3

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Now onto the main event . . .

Ch 6: Strictly Business

Arthur awoke late the next morning, mind still churning over the previous night's events at the drive-in theatre. But as he rose and dressed himself, he became more and more determined to dismiss the whole incident as a simple anomaly—and to forget about whatever it was he had felt toward Alfred F. Jones. In fact, today, he decided he would focus strictly upon business. There would be no Alfred involved in that, which meant there would be no chance for any distractions from him.

As Arthur descended the hallway's stairs, he fully expected Alfred to be lurking about somewhere, just waiting to pop up and ambush him, but the man was nowhere to be found. Instead, when Arthur entered the Jones's living room, he was surprised to find himself face to face with a business executive from the Jones's wine company.

"Well, there you are at last, Mr. Kirkland!" the man began, just as Arthur stepped into the room. "I was beginning to think you had succumbed to the charms of our wines and passed out in the cellar downstairs!" The man laughed heartily at this; he was a very round, jovial fellow with a bushy mustache, rather like a chubbier version of the man from the Pringles cans. "Oh, but please don't think I'm criticizing you. I was only having a bit of fun. I'm really here because the Jones's told me about you—don't worry, they only had good things to say—and asked that we meet to discuss business."

"I see," Arthur said, stepping forward to shake the man's hand. "And will the Joneses themselves be joining us?"

"I'm afraid they're away at the moment, addressing another important matter of business. They'll be returning late this evening, but I wanted to go ahead and meet you myself while I still had the chance. I _am _the Joneses' right-hand man, after all. Name's Robert Worthington, by the way."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Arthur said, though it was a mechanical response, as his mind was focused on other matters. He hadn't realized Alfred's parents were away on a trip, and it made him wonder just how often they traveled. Had it been like this for Matthew and Alfred's entire lives? Had their parents constantly been travelling around, prioritizing business over family?

_Of course, I'm probably just reading too much into it, _Arthur thought. _Perhaps they don't even travel that often at all. And even if they do, I really have no right to fault them. Running such a huge company requires a great deal of time and effort, after all . . . _Arthur suddenly thought of what Alfred had said to him the day before, about how he didn't want to take over the family company. Now Arthur finally understood. _It would be so confining for him . . . being responsible for an entire company, always having to put that first, over his own wishes and desires . . . _

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, I'm sorry. My mind was a bit preoccupied," Arthur replied.

"I can see that," Mr. Worthington chuckled. "But is it too preoccupied to join us for our little business meeting?"

Arthur grinned. "Hopefully, it will remain with us from this point forward," he answered, praying that this would be true.

"Well, in that case, why don't we have a seat?" The man gestured to a pair of chairs across the room, and Arthur willingly took one across from him. "The chefs brought out these treats," the executive went on, pointing to a tray of muffins and fruit, "so feel free to help yourself."

"I will, thank you," Arthur said, reaching for one of the muffins. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have taken it, but since he hadn't eaten any breakfast, he thought it justified. When he took a bite, he noticed how overwhelmingly sweet the creation was, and he thought Alfred would have liked it, had he been present.

_Blast it, not that again, _Arthur thought, taking another vicious bite of the muffin. _Why do I always think about him? _At the drive-in movie, Alfred had done nothing but invade Arthur's personal space, and now he was interjecting himself into Arthur's thoughts as well! _But I've got to focus. This is business. I can't let myself get distracted. _

"Well, Mr. Worthington," Arthur began, determined to stay on topic, "I thought—"

"Oh, don't be so formal! Call me Bob," the man said.

"Yes, of course. Bob," Arthur corrected, continuing. "I thought we might start by discussing the benefits of a partnership between our two companies—"

Just then, Arthur's ears caught the unmistakable sound of a door slamming down the hallway, and he knew all at once what was coming next. Within a matter of seconds, Alfred himself had bounded into the room, out of breath and panting.

"Sorry I'm late, guys," he began, taking a seat on the sofa nearest Arthur. Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, he added, "Did I miss anything?"

Arthur just stared at him in horror.

Mr. Worthington simply laughed. "Do you mean to tell me, Alfred, that you intend to take part in this meeting? This _business _meeting?"

"That's right," Alfred said, stuffing one of the muffins into this mouth. Mr. Worthington laughed even harder.

"Well, isn't this a surprise! And I could have sworn you harbored no interest in business matters . . . I had better go check the sky—with you acting the way you are, the apocalypse must be nigh!"

_Yes, it must be_, Arthur thought. _The apocalypse of my sanity._

"I just thought it was time I start participating in this business stuff. You know, learn how it's done and all," Alfred explained, doing his best to sound far more responsible than he really was. Mr. Worthington seemed thrilled, but Arthur still looked stunned, as though he were suffering from the aftershock of some rare cataclysmic event. There was absolutely no hope of him staying on track anymore. His thoughts were like a compass, and Alfred was magnetic north; no matter which direction Arthur turned, his mind would always point back to Alfred. And it was a thousand times worse now that Alfred was literally in the room with him . . . how was he to concentrate on business matters now? The whole thing infuriated Arthur to no end.

"Hey, you going to eat that, Arthur?" Alfred asked, pointing to the last muffin on the tray.

"No. Go ahead and help yourself," Arthur replied, an icy undertone prevalent in his voice. But Alfred didn't detect it as he went on gobbling down his food.

"All right then, how about we continue on," Mr. Worthington suggested. "Arthur was just about to tell me the advantages of a partnership between our two companies."

Both men turned to stare at Arthur, who was suddenly feeling very much like a deer in headlights. He struggled to fuse sentences together from the mass of scattered thoughts floating about in his brain, but his attempts were poor. He was scarcely making sense, and he could feel himself babbling on, like some drunken delinquent. It was horribly humiliating; he knew he was better than this! He felt he was shaming himself, not to mention his company. . . . Finally he decided the best thing to do was to take a breather and collect himself.

"I'm sorry," he began, looking away, "but I'm not feeling all that well. Lingering effects of the fire, I suppose . . . I just need a moment to catch my breath. So if you'll excuse me, Blob—er, I mean _Bob_, yes. I'll be right back." And with this, he rose and practically sprinted out of the room, straight through the back door and into the backyard.

_I can't believe this_, he repeated over and over to himself, clutching his head. He had never let personal matters hinder his business dealings before, and it scared him that he was letting it do so now. But before he could analyze things any further, he spotted Alfred coming up the yard toward him. As he approached, Arthur turned to face him.

"This is all your fault, you know that?" Arthur growled, crossing his arms. Alfred seemed confused.

"What's my fault?"

"Everything!" Arthur answered, before he could stop himself. "You and that bloody blob movie of yours . . . I accidentally called the man 'blob' instead of 'Bob,' did you hear that? He probably thinks I was insulting his weight . . ." Arthur buried his face in his hands, wishing he could just go back to bed and re-do the entire day over again.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," Alfred laughed. "I don't think he'll take it to heart . . ."

"What are you doing at this meeting anyway?" Arthur went on, interrupting him. "I thought you hated business, so why the sudden interest?"

"I just felt like coming to a meeting, all right?" Alfred replied, a little defensively. "Why does it bother you so much anyway?"

"Because I can't concentrate! Whenever I see you, all I can think about is that ridiculous blob movie and all . . ." Arthur trailed off. It was a lie, of course. It wasn't the movie he couldn't stop thinking about; _Alfred_ was the one his thoughts kept drifting back to. But he would rather be boiled in a vat of hot oil than admit it to the man in front of him.

"So you're saying you can't concentrate when I'm there?" Alfred asked, and Arthur nodded. "Hmm . . . I had no idea I was so distracting." Arthur looked up at him and suddenly started to sweat. There was something in Alfred's expression that he couldn't quite place . . . what was it? A smugness, perhaps? For a second, it almost looked as though Alfred knew more than he was letting on. It was gone in an instant, but the shadow of it still lingered, horrifying Arthur to his core. He had assumed Alfred to be completely oblivious to everything, most especially the emotional war Arthur had raging inside him. Surely he wasn't just playing dumb . . . surely he had no idea of the effect he had upon Arthur . . .

"If I'm really such a distraction, I guess I'll sit this meeting out," Alfred said, starting back toward the house. "I didn't really feel like listening to boring business talk anyway."

Then Alfred disappeared back into the house, and Arthur was left to puzzle things out on his own.

xxx

Needless to say, the rest of the business meeting went quite a bit smoother with Alfred out of the picture. Arthur was able to focus more readily upon the task at hand (although he still couldn't completely get Alfred out of his mind), and Mr. Worthington was good-natured enough not to hold the whole "Blob" vs "Bob" mix-up against him. By the end of the meeting, Arthur's spirits were soaring; he was convinced he would be able to cement a business deal with the Jones's company soon. And once that was secured, he would be able to return to London at last—back to the place where things still made sense.

Once the meeting was over and Mr. Worthington had taken his leave, Arthur headed into the hallway and spotted Matthew standing near the doorway.

"Oh, I almost didn't notice you there!"

"It's all right," Matthew replied in his usual wispy voice, "It happens all the time. But how was your meeting with Mr. Worthington?"

Immediately, Arthur began to wonder if Matthew had been listening outside the door, trying to catch whatever snippets of conversation he could. It really was a shame that Matthew couldn't be more involved in the Jones's company, considering how interested he was in it.

"The meeting went well," Arthur assured him, hoping Matthew hadn't overheard the beginning of the meeting too, when everything had been going so shakily. "So what have you been up to today?"

"Oh, I've just been getting ready for my graduation," Matthew said. "It's tomorrow, you know."

"Is it?" Arthur couldn't recall Alfred mentioning anything about it, but then again, Alfred never seemed keen on mentioning things that didn't center around himself, so Arthur really shouldn't have been surprised. "Well, congratulations, anyway."

"Thanks, but it's really not that big of a deal . . ."

"Don't be so modest," Arthur said, inwardly chuckling at how different Matthew's attitude was when compared with Alfred's. "Will your parents be attending the ceremony?"

"They said they should be here in time," Matthew replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely sure about it. "But what about you? Do you want to join us?"

Arthur was taken aback for a moment, unsure of how to reply to such an invitation. Matthew's graduation seemed like more of a family event, so he wasn't sure whether he should interject himself into a gathering like that. Of course, it was difficult to say no when Matthew had asked so politely, and Arthur had to admit he was interested in meeting Mr. and Mrs. Jones in person, but . . .

"I'm not sure if I really belong there," Arthur said at last, still feeling like too much of a stranger to butt in.

"Are you sure?" Matthew pressed. "I know that Alfred would want you to be there."

_Not that twit again_, Arthur thought, eyebrows twitching as he attempted to keep his composure. _Even when he's not here, he manages to slither his way into the conversation. _Arthur gazed over at Matthew and wondered if he could sense the inner turmoil that the mention of Alfred had spawned, but Matthew's face was a perfect mask of angelic innocence. Once again, Arthur found himself wondering what he should say, but before he could open his mouth, Alfred came barreling through the door, right on cue.

"Hey guys, whatcha doing?" he asked, licking at an enormous triple-decker ice-cream cone. "Is the meeting over?"

"Yes, it's over—"

"I was just inviting Arthur to my graduation tomorrow," Matthew interrupted, surprising Arthur with his forcefulness.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that!" Alfred exclaimed, setting his sights on Arthur. "You _are _going to come, right?" The way he said it made it sound like a threat, and he seemed to be staring Arthur down from behind his ice-cream cone. Arthur began to wish Matthew hadn't mentioned the invitation in Alfred's presence, but then again, perhaps this was exactly the reason he _had_ done so: he knew Alfred wouldn't take no for an answer.

_But I really can't blame Matthew_, Arthur thought, _after all, he probably just wants one sane person around during his graduation._

"Fine then," Arthur replied, sighing. "I suppose I don't have a choice."

"Great!" Alfred exclaimed, face beaming. Matthew was smiling along with him as well. "And you'll get to meet our parents too!"

"Oh, right," Arthur muttered, not quite sure if he was ready for that. But then again, it wasn't exactly the sort of thing one could prepare for. . . . "Wait!" Arthur suddenly gasped, drawing puzzled looks from both Alfred and Matthew. "Tomorrow is Friday, is it not?" The brothers nodded. "And tomorrow is . . . the 13th, is it not?"

"Oh Arthur, you don't believe in that superstition, do you?" Alfred laughed, clapping him on the back. Arthur gulped.

_Well, with the way things have been going . . ._

He didn't want to admit it, but he was very worried indeed.

xxx

Oooh, Friday the 13th! Our prayers are with you, Arthur XD

As for next chapty…Mattie's graduation! And Arthur finally gets to meet Alfred's parents!

So until then . . . don't forget to review please! Thank you all :) and see you next time!


	7. Ch 7: Graduation

Hey everybody :) Sorry for the delay in putting this up. But on a happy note, it snowed like crazy around here a few days ago, so classes have been called off for four days so far! So it's like having an entire extra week off for winter break :D It's been awesome~~~and that's how I had time to finish this chapter! All thanks to the snow!

And now, thanks to everybody who reviewed: **Hana1225, Sha-Lin, ImaduckQuaQua, RLunatic78, yamishun, IchigoMelon, c at'akai, ****ToastWeaselofDOOM, **and ** TheWonderBunny**

At **Sha-Lin**: Yay! Thank you for the very lovely review :D It's nice not to have to use google translator this time haha But anyway, you review was very touching and I appreciate it! And I'll have to remember that laundry closet idea for later XD It sounds like something that would happen to Arthur. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter too :)

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Ch 7: Graduation

Come graduation day, the Jones's household was once again thrown into chaos. Its residents seemed to be doing nothing but rushing to and fro, up and down stairs, making sure everything was in order for the big day. The Joneses had hired a professional photographer to take pictures of Matthew in his graduation garb—without consulting Matthew about it beforehand, of course. So he suddenly found himself being shoved into the spotlight, with camera flashes blinding him from all angles. Well, at least he was the center of attention for once.

Arthur, on the other hand, was perfectly happy to shy away from all the hustle and bustle downstairs. He stayed in his room for as long as he could, still not entirely sure if it was such a smashing idea to join the Joneses at Matthew's graduation ceremony. His anxiety probably had something to do with meeting Alfred's parents. He wanted to make a good impression—for strictly professional reasons, of course—but he worried he might come off as too soft-spoken and meek, especially when compared with the blabbermouth that was—

"Hey Arthur, are you ever gonna get up?" Alfred called, banging on Arthur's door. "If you don't, I'll have to break it down—"

"Try to contain your rabid instincts for another minute, and I'll be out!" Arthur yelled, straightening his tie. He had put on something more formal for the occasion, just as Alfred had. In fact, when Arthur opened his door, he could hardly believe it was Alfred at all; he was used to seeing Alfred in such casual, slacker-inspired clothing that it was almost shocking to see him looking all formal and business-like. Not that Arthur entirely disapproved of the look. After all, Alfred did look rather handsome—almost charming, actually . . .

"Hey, you in there?" Alfred asked, rapping his knuckles on Arthur's head. "You seem a little spacey. Not still distracting you, am I?" His mouth curled into a smug grin.

_Charming? _Arthur thought, glaring up at him. _What the bloody hell was I thinking?_

xxx

When Arthur arrived downstairs, the photographer was just leaving, and Matthew was catching his breath on the sofa. The whole room was decorated with bouquets of flowers and an oversized congratulatory banner featuring Kumajirou in a party hat. No one else was around except Matthew, so Alfred took the chance to personally congratulate him.

"Look at you, little bro!" Alfred said, going up to Matthew and pulling him into a choke-hold. "You look all scholarly and grown-up! Who would've thought?"

"Your affection is . . . overwhelming," Matthew gasped, scarcely able to breathe with Alfred's arm around his neck.

"I think he means that literally," Arthur pointed out. "He's starting to turn blue."

"Blue? What do you mean?" Alfred began, letting him go. "This is like one of the most awesome days of your life, Mattie! How can you be feeling—"

"I meant he was turning blue from lack of oxygen, not that he was feeling depressed," Arthur said.

"Lack of oxygen? Yeah, I think it's kinda stuffy in here too. We should go out and get some fresh air," Alfred agreed, completely unaware that Matthew's lack of oxygen had nothing to do with the stuffiness of the room.

"Mom and Dad should be getting here soon anyway," Matthew began, regaining his voice, "so maybe we should go out on the lawn and meet them."

"Sounds good," Alfred agreed, making for the door.

"I'm coming," Matthew replied in his usual whispery voice. Arthur began to wonder if the whispering might have something to do with all the years of near-strangulation by Alfred.

xxx

As Alfred, Matthew, and Arthur arrived outside, a dark limousine was pulling up the Jones's driveway.

_They're here already,_ Arthur thought, standing up as straight as he could. Indeed, it seemed the Joneses had arrived right on cue; the next thing he knew, a woman had sprung out of the vehicle and rushed over to Matthew, wrapping her arms around him. Once again, it seemed the poor boy was being starved of air, as Mrs. Jones seemed to have every bit as much squeezing power as Alfred.

"My baby, you look so ADORABLE!" she yelled; she was every bit as loud as Alfred too. It was apparent that he had taken after his mother. She looked good for her age, and she was wearing a bright red dress and high heels. Her light blonde hair fell in waves about her shoulders, and her personality was just as bouncy as her hair style. When she was finished showering her affection upon Matthew, she flitted over to Alfred and spent some quality time squeezing him too. But then her eyes fell upon Arthur, and he was suddenly very afraid.

"And you're Arthur, aren't you?" she asked, starting toward him. "How rude of me not to introduce myself! I'm Amelia Jones."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said, holding out his hand. But instead of a handshake, Mrs. Jones squashed him up against her chest, squeezing hard.

"Alfred, you never told me how cute he was!" she yelled, shooting her son a reproachful look. Addressing Arthur, she continued. "Alfred told me you were staying here, but he failed to mention how adorable you are!" Arthur would have issued a word of thanks, but he was having a bit of difficulty breathing. "I hope my little Alfie's been treating you well, dear." Glancing over at Alfred, Arthur could have sworn he noticed a smug smile flash across his face. "Have you been enjoying your stay so far?"

"Yes, very much," Arthur replied as Mrs. Jones released him from her grip. Still gasping a bit for air, he said, "I met with Mr. Worthington recently, to discuss business."

"Ah, yes," Mrs. Jones said. "It's a perfect match, don't you think?"

"What?" Arthur mumbled. His gaze had been fixed upon Alfred, but he pulled away to look at Mrs. Jones. "What were we talking about?"

"Our companies, I mean," she clarified. "Our companies are a perfect match for one another—for a business partnership, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, yes of course," Arthur said, staring at his shoes and wondering if it were even possible to make a bigger fool out of himself. _But I highly doubt that_, he thought, _no one could manage it better than I. _

"Arthur, you have to meet my husband," Mrs. Jones said, as he had just come to stand beside her. "This is Jack."

"Mr. Kirkland," Mr. Jones said, nodding to Arthur. As they shook hands, Arthur noticed that the man was (thankfully) quieter than his wife. He wore glasses like his sons, and he was very handsome with slightly darker blond hair than his wife. He seemed to give off an aura of intimidation, and it made Arthur nervous.

After he was finished introducing himself to Arthur, Mr. Jones congratulated Matthew on making it to the big day, and then he turned to Alfred. The two didn't exchange many words, but Arthur could tell that their relationship was tense. No doubt they had argued about Alfred's lackluster involvement in company affairs, so it seemed they were still on shaky terms with one another.

"Well, I think it's about time we headed out," Mrs. Jones perked up, attempting to break the tension. But Arthur knew it would take more than a few cheery words to do that.

xxx

Much to Arthur's surprise, Matthew's graduation ceremony turned out to be utterly uneventful—in a good way, of course. Arthur hadn't forgotten that it was Friday the 13th, and as such, he kept expecting the stage to burst into flames or the roof to cave-in or some-such, but the event went off without a hitch. Matthew tripped on his robe once or twice, but he recovered quickly enough. And when his name was called, Mrs. Jones and Alfred made a complete spectacle of themselves by yelling and cheering for him. Arthur thought it a wonder they didn't get thrown out of the building for their boorish behavior, but he supposed no one really wanted to go near the Joneses for fear of being pummeled. Actually, the cheering turned out to be a rather amusing thing to watch, once Arthur had stuffed his fingers in his ears.

After the ceremony (once Mrs. Jones had finished taking a few hundred pictures and sobbing about how her babies had grown up so fast), the Joneses went out for dinner, inviting Arthur to come along with them. Though he still felt a bit awkward about the whole thing, it was too late to refuse, so he reluctantly agreed. At the restaurant, amidst a tray of flaming appetizers, Mrs. Jones started off chatting about how proud she was of Matthew; after all, it was his graduation day, and so the conversation deserved to revolve around him for once. But Mr. Jones seemed more interested in discussing business.

"So, Mr. Kirkland, Bob told me you had a business meeting together," he began, much to his wife's annoyance. "He was very impressed with you. He said the meeting went well."

"I tried my best," Arthur said, not sure how else to respond.

"Just a few days ago, you were involved in that terrible fire, and yet you haven't let that slow you down," Mr. Jones went on. Though he was speaking to Arthur, his eye was fixed on Alfred. "You know, my son could learn a thing or two about dedication from you."

Alfred glared at his father but said nothing. Arthur could tell he was biting back his tongue.

_If only I had let him stay at that business meeting, _Arthur thought, cursing himself, _then his father wouldn't be reprimanding him like this. But it was my own bloody fault. All because it was too distracting for him to be around me . . ._

"Bob told me you had an idea about how we could pool our companies' resources," Mr. Jones went on. "It was very clever of you—"

"Actually, that was Alfred's idea," Arthur blurted out, silencing the entire table. Everyone stopped eating to stare at him, most especially Alfred. What he had said was a lie, but he couldn't stand to see the way Alfred's father was treating his son. So he didn't take back what he had said. "Alfred and I had discussed it before the meeting. I thought it was an excellent idea as well—that's why I mentioned it to Mr. Worthington."

"It's true—I heard them discussing it," Matthew piped up, much to the surprise of both Arthur and Alfred.

"I see," Mr. Jones said, taken aback, "well, in that case, good thinking, son." He nodded to Alfred. "Perhaps Mr. Kirkland's presence has had a positive impact on you after all."

Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't very well deny anything now—not when both Arthur and Matthew had vouched for him. So he just smiled and went back to nibbling at his food.

Mrs. Jones cleared her throat. "Yes, we're proud of you, Alfred, but this is Matthew's celebratory dinner, isn't it? So why don't we agree to shelve this business talk for the rest of the evening, hmm?" Everyone was more than eager to oblige.

xxx

Following dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Jones turned in early, still worn out from their long flight back to California. Matthew had actually been invited to a graduation party by his friends, so he left shortly after the family returned to their estate.

"I'm not sure what his definition of a party is," Alfred said after they had seen him off, "probably something involving table hockey and napping."

"Well, I hope he enjoys himself," Arthur replied. "He deserves it, especially since dinner didn't go all that splendidly . . ."

"Y'know, you shouldn't have lied for me," Alfred told him, crossing his arms and leaning against the living room wall. "Why did you, anyway?"

"I—I didn't do it for you," Arthur muttered, looking away. "It was just that the tension was ruining Matthew's dinner, that's all. That's the only reason I lied about it."

"Because it was ruining Matthew's dinner?" Alfred repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur tried to keep his gaze focused on the floor, but it was no use. He could feel Alfred's stare boring into him, wearing him down like saltwater lapping at a cliff.

"All right," he conceded at last, "I lied because I didn't think it was quite fair the way your father was treating you, that's all." He blushed, but Alfred pretended not to notice.

"It's okay, I'm used to my dad treating me like that. But thanks for the gesture anyway."

"Don't expect me to do it again."

"Of course not," Alfred replied, grinning, "Wouldn't want to ruin that prickly image of yours—you know, the one you try so hard to keep up."

"Prickly image? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped, whipping around to face Alfred. "Besides, what about you? Always pretending to be so oblivious about everything—"

"Oblivious about what?"

"There—see, you're doing it again! Pretending as though you don't notice anything—"

"Notice _what_?"

"Nothing," Arthur grumbled, suddenly regaining control of himself. "Absolutely nothing."

"How can I 'pretend to be oblivious' about nothing?"

"Just forget I said anything," Arthur insisted, turning back to stare at the wall. He realized that he had already said too much—or was it too little? He couldn't decide whether he actually wanted Alfred to know what he was feeling or not. Things were just so complicated . . .

Silence ruled the room for a few moments before Alfred finally spoke again.

"I've got a plan," he said.

"Please spare me—"

"I'm gonna go get a carton of ice cream, and then I'm gonna sit here and eat while we have a little chat about these things that I've been so 'oblivious' about, all right?"

"No, that's—"

But Alfred was already sprinting for the kitchen.

_Good God, what have I done now? _Arthur collapsed onto the couch behind him. _What the bleeding hell is he expecting us to "chat" about, anyway? _Arthur suddenly pictured the night at the drive-in movie, when he'd shivered every time Alfred had touched him. And then he thought of the business meeting, when he had been forced to dismiss Alfred because he was too distracting . . . _What the hell am I supposed to say to him? How can I explain any of this to him when I don't even know what it means myself?_

"Bad news," Alfred said, suddenly popping his head back into the room. "I forgot I ate all the ice cream last night."

"Why am I not surprised?" Arthur mumbled.

"But it's no big deal," Alfred continued. "I'll take my bike and head down to the store, grab a couple of cartons. What kind do you want?"

"Anything's fine," Arthur replied, not in the mood to be picking ice cream flavors. His stomach was so fluttery that he didn't think he could eat any of it regardless.

"All right, I'll be back again soon," Alfred assured him, "so just stay there."

"Fine," Arthur said as Alfred sped out the door. "I was hoping that this Friday the 13th might not be so intolerable after all, but apparently that was just wishful thinking."

And it turned out to be very wishful thinking indeed. Because Alfred didn't come home that night.

xxx

Oh no, what happened to Alfie ? Guess you'll just have to find out next time…

On a side note, I modeled Alfred's mom after the female version of America (she's sometimes called Amelia) since I thought she'd fit the part really well.

Next chapter: Alfred's in some real trouble, and Arthur's seriously worried about him. But what happened to Alfred anyway—and why?

Find out next time! :D Thanks for reading and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW please! See you all then!


	8. Ch 8: Kidnapped

All right, for starters, let me just apologize for the delay in posting this chapter! *hangs head in shame*But I've been sick with the flu for the past couple of weeks, so I haven't been able to write TT_TT (Worst time to get the flu—right in the middle of a cliffhanger!) I meant for this chapter to be longer too, but since it's been so delayed, I'm just putting up what I have, and I'll save the rest of it for the next chapter . . . and I promise to get the next one up as quick as I can! And if I break that promise then you all have official permission to stone me to death. XD

Now for the thank-you's to all the reviewers (and there were a lot!): **Lydiacatfish, Hikari-Tales-Yaoi-fangirl, IchigoMelon, ****alguien22792, Demand Truth **(yay for the long review!), **LaLa, cxlina, BwaBwaimagoat, ImaduckQuaQua, Hana1225, MeLaNch0LYdreams, ToastWeaselofDOOM, Cheyenne, cat'akai, mudkiprox, ****Dobato Nyanko, Idiot-The-Great, TheWonderBunny, British Chocolate, and StardustRudie**!

At **cat'akai**: Don't worry, nobody's gonna die in this story, I promise! So you can put your mind at ease :D

Also, it was fun reading all of your theories about what happened to Alfred, especially the France and Russia theories lol Somehow, those two always seem guilty XD And HURRAH, OVER 100 REVIEWS! Thank you guys so much for all the support!

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Now, without further ado . . .

Ch 8: Kidnapped

"Aw man, which one should I get?" Alfred mumbled, gaping in awe at the convenience store's vast selection of ice-cream flavors. How could any man be expected to choose just one when faced with such an immense treasure-trove as this? Alfred sighed. It would prove a difficult challenge, but he knew he needed to hurry it up; after all, Arthur was waiting for him back home, and the Brit wasn't the most patient type.

Swinging open the freezer door, Alfred quickly scooped up a carton of "New York Super-Fudge Chunk" for himself. But then he hesitated, wondering which flavor Arthur might want. _Knowing him, he'd probably ask for something plain, like vanilla. _Keeping this in mind, Alfred naturally started searching for the most strange and exotic flavors he could find, fully aware of how much this would annoy Arthur. But even this decision proved to be a tough one, what with so many unusual flavors to choose from. Still, after eventually narrowing the list down to a few finalists such as mango, pumpkin cheesecake, snicker-doodle cookie, and pineapple coconut, Alfred decided to go for the good old "Rum Raisin," imagining how awesome it would be to get Arthur drunk off of ice cream.

"And it's the last one too!" Alfred exclaimed, snatching up the carton. It was a good thing the store hadn't run out of them. Not that such an unfortunate event could ever happen to Alfred; the universe was _always_ on his side, after all! So there was absolutely no chance the store would ever be out of the flavor _he _wanted. He was just too awesome for the universe to deny him.

After paying for the ice cream, Alfred left the store and started toward his bike. He couldn't help grinning when he thought about the look Arthur would have on his face at the sight of the ice cream flavor. It would be an amusing start to what he knew would be an interesting evening . . .

"Hmm?" Alfred suddenly froze and glanced behind him, certain he had heard a noise just then—like someone—or some_thing—_ had been moving behind him. An unwelcome image of the Blob surfaced in his mind, but he quickly brushed away the thought. "A hero has to be fearless!" he told himself, clenching his fist determinedly. Besides, if he wasted too much time standing there, his ice cream would start to melt—and that would be unacceptable.

"It was probably just the wind anyway," he reassured himself—right before the universe promptly proved him wrong. Turning back around, he was met with a thunderous _whack _as something collided with the side of his head. Dropping his cartons of ice cream, he felt himself collapse upon the sidewalk, seriously pissed off at the universe for betraying him like that.

xxx

When Alfred next gained consciousness, he felt a throbbing pain pulsing across his dizzy and disoriented forehead. And along with that, his glasses were cracked, his vision was a little blurry, and his memory wasn't too sharp. _What happened? _He tried to think back, but his head hurt so much it seemed like little ice cream cones were dancing around it.

"Wait, the ice cream!" he suddenly cried out, finally recalling all that had occurred: he had gone to get some ice cream, but then he'd been knocked out by some mysterious assailant. And now he was . . . well, he wasn't quite sure where. But it looked kind of like a warehouse, and he was tied to a chair in the corner, next to a stack of storage crates. Now the only question that remained was _why_?

"This is just like in the movies," he mumbled to himself, strategically surveying his surroundings. "The hero gets ambushed and kidnapped. Now I just gotta figure out a clever way to escape. With my awesomeness, it shouldn't be too hard . . ." Alfred glanced about him, but the place was completely windowless, and he couldn't spot an alternative escape route anywhere. So it looked like he'd have to use the door. "But before that, I've gotta slip this rope . . ." Immediately, he began tugging at the rope binding his hands, twisting his wrists this way and that in an attempt to free himself. It wasn't an easy feat, but what with his inhuman strength and all, he could feel the bonds starting to loosen after a little while. Now, if he could only get away before—

Too late; it seemed Alfred had jinxed it. His assailants—there were about five of them, it looked like—had just reinterred the room, and he was fairly sure they hadn't come to untie him. They were dressed in dark coats, and they kept to the shadows, so Alfred couldn't see their faces. But even so, they didn't intimidate him. Turning up his cool "hero" demeanor to full blast, he stared boldly ahead, addressing the figures.

"Well, looks like you guys went to a lot of trouble kidnapping me . . . so what do you want?" he asked, eyes jumping from one figure to the next. "Are you trying to get a ransom or something? If you are, then just give it up, 'cause you're not getting a dime out of my family! The only thing you're gonna get out of this is a serious ass-kicking when I get free!"

Silence. Despite his best efforts, Alfred's taunts didn't seem to be eliciting any response from his captors. It just didn't make sense. What was the point of kidnapping him if they were just going to stand around and do nothing?

"Hey, what are you, a bunch of cowards?" Alfred yelled, trying once again to provoke them. And at last, it seemed to be working; one of the men stepped forward, removing something from underneath his coat as he did so. Alfred couldn't see what it was at first, but as the man continued moving toward him, he finally realized: a baseball bat. Apparently the men had grown tired of Alfred's big mouth, so they intended to give him another unpleasant _whap _on the head. Only this time, Alfred was ready for it.

When the man swung the bat toward him, Alfred slipped free of his bonds and brought his hands forward, stealthily catching the weapon before it could make contact with his skull. Caught off guard, the man's grip on the bat loosened, and Alfred took the opportunity to yank it out of his hands, kicking him in the stomach as he did so. The man went skidding across the warehouse floor as the other figures descended upon Alfred, but they should have known better than to challenge a hero!

"Did you guys really think you'd be able to keep me here?" he taunted, bracing himself for battle. "After all, I've got somebody waiting for me back home, so I really don't have time to stick around and keep you guys company."

The men remained silent as always, though they flew at Alfred like birds of prey, surrounding him and swooping in. But Alfred was no pushover, and it proved an easy enough task to dodge their punches and jabs. In fact, Alfred couldn't help but grin as he fought with them.

"Y'know, you should have picked a different weapon to try to take me out with!" he jeered, expertly swinging the baseball bat around him. "I was always the best player on my Little League team!" And with that, he landed one last blow to knock the final man unconscious.

"Well, that's that," Alfred declared, stepping over the bruised men to reach the warehouse's door. "All in a day's work for a hero." Still, he couldn't help wondering just who the men were—and why they had randomly kidnapped him in the first place. Assuming it _was _random, of course . . .

_Oh well, I guess if they don't send any more goons after me, I'll know. And if they try to jump me again, I'll just pulverize 'em. No one gets the better of Alfred F. Jones._

Nodding, Alfred proudly strolled through the warehouse's door, feeling even surer than usual that the entire world belonged to him.

xxx

It turned out that the warehouse wasn't too far away from the convenience store where Alfred had been abducted, so he didn't have to walk but an hour or so to get back. Once he arrived, he was pleased to see that his motorbike was just where he had left it. Unfortunately, his worst fears were confirmed when it came to other matters.

"No! How could this happen?" Alfred wailed, falling to his knees at the sight of the poor ice cream cartons, their contents spilled and melted across the pavement like blood from an open wound. "And that was the last Rum Raisin too!" he sniffed, solemnly lowering his head. "How am I supposed to get Arthur drunk now . . . ?"

xxx

So that's the end of this chapter! I know it was a bit short, but what do you guys think so far? Also, the whole kidnapping thing probably seems like it's coming out of nowhere, but I promise it'll all make sense later on!

And as a side note, all of the ice cream flavors mentioned are real ones I looked up online. The "New York Super-Fudge Chunk" is from Ben & Jerry's, as are the "Pumpkin Cheesecake" and "Snicker-doodle Cookie." The mango, pineapple coconut, and Rum Raisin are from Haagen-Dazs. Actually, Baskin Robbins has Rum Raisin too, so maybe that flavor's not so uncommon after all? Also, on the Baskin Robbins website, I saw they had a special 4th of July flavor called "America's Birthday Cake," and the description was: "Cake-flavored ice cream and cake pieces swirled with Strawberry ice cream and blue whipped cream frosting." Blue whipped cream? XD Sounds so perfect for Alfred! And now I have a desperate craving for ice cream too . . . *cries*

Oh, and this is gonna sound kind of random too, but I've been watching a new anime recently that's super awesome and hilarious called "Princess Jellyfish." So if any of you are looking for some new anime to watch, I'd totally recommend that one :D It's only 11 episodes long and they're all on youtube, so if you like slacking off and watching mindless, brain-numbing comedy (don't we all?), then you should give it a try! Plus, there's cross-dressing involved (just to warn you).

Next Chapter: Arthur's none too happy about Alfred's lengthy absence. In fact, there's a lot of pouting involved. How's Alfred going to explain being gone so long? And how's he going to make it up to Arthur . . . ?

Hope to see all of you guys then! And please REVIEW! I'll give you some Rum Raisin ice cream :)

And Happy Valentine's Day!


	9. Ch 9: To Stay Like This

Hey everybody, new chapter time! :D As promised, it's a longer one.

A big thank-you to everyone who reviewed**: j-sasunaru-c, MimmiTheOtaku, Hana1225, Cheyenne, cat'akai, TheWonderBunny, ****xxalexisurgodxx, MashednotHashed, IchigoMelon, stabbythings, Lydiacatfish, Player3, **and** BwaBwaimagoat! **

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Enjoy!

Ch 9: To Stay Like This

"What the hell is taking that idiot so long?" Arthur grumbled, eyes plastered to the grandfather clock ticking away in the Jones's living room. Alfred had only stepped out to pick up some ice cream, yet he had been gone for nearly two hours already. _What in God's name could he be doing? _Arthur had no clue what to think, but he was becoming more and more perturbed with each passing minute.

Of course, annoyance wasn't the only thing Arthur was feeling; in fact, since Alfred's departure, Arthur's personage had been bombarded with just about every emotion he could name—and some he couldn't. Alfred had promised him that they would have a "chat" when he returned, but Arthur wasn't entirely sure he wanted to engage in such a talk. Besides, what was supposed to be the topic of their conversation anyway? Arthur figured it had something to do with the strange way Alfred made him feel all the time—how flustered and tongue-tied he always got when Alfred was around . . . just thinking about it was enough to bring a spot of color to his cheeks. So how could he possibly hope to discuss such a thing with Alfred? The whole idea was absurd. Arthur even considered rushing upstairs and locking himself in his room, pretending to be asleep so that he wouldn't have to face Alfred . . .

_What a coward I am_, he thought, ashamed of himself for even thinking about running away. What was he so afraid of anyway? That he would make a fool of himself in front of Alfred? He chuckled at the thought of it. _After all, you've already done a splendid job of that_, he thought, clenching his fists. _You act like a bloody fool every time he's around. _No, humiliating himself wasn't _really_ what he feared most. There was something else bothering him. It was something that had to do with unearthing hidden truths buried beneath the surface—admitting certain things to himself that he didn't want to know . . . in other words, it was the _truth_ that scared him most. He was afraid of uncovering the truth behind these feelings of his . . .

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" he repeated over and over, cursing Alfred for causing him so much grief. And yet, at the same time, perhaps he was also cursing himself, for allowing the American to affect him in such a way.

_I need some air_, he thought, rising from the sofa. _Yes, a breath of fresh air will do me wonders. _With this in mind, Arthur swiftly passed through the door, making his way into the Jones's back yard. Looking up, the sight of the brilliant, honey-colored moon seemed to calm him down a bit, so he decided to stay out a while longer and take a stroll across the yard. And at first, it appeared to be working. After all, the night air was so still and soothing that Arthur couldn't help but feel at peace . . . but unfortunately, the peace didn't stay. Dazedly, he suddenly found himself standing in front of Alfred's tree house—the one where Alfred and Matthew had played as children. With the night sky as its backdrop, the place seemed somehow intriguing and full of mystique, almost like a long-forgotten ruin. And like some amateur archaeologist, Arthur was gripped with a sudden desire to explore those ruins.

The tree house's rickety old ladder wasn't the most stable thing in the world, but since it didn't collapse when Arthur placed his foot on it, he decided it was probably safe enough . . . yeah, _probably_. Cautiously, he began his climb, stomach lurching each time he heard the wood creaking beneath him. _I must be mental_, he thought, finally reaching the top of the tree-house. _What am I even doing here? _He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find—he wasn't even sure what he was looking for—but this tree-house was something important to Alfred, which made it somehow feel important to him too.

Unsurprisingly, the tree-house's interior was in complete disarray; it clearly hadn't been used for many years. There were various leaves and twigs scattered about, the roof was half-collapsed, a good portion of the wood was rotted away. But the place wasn't entirely empty. Brushing aside a cluster of rotting leaves, Arthur uncovered a pile of Alfred's old toys—remnants of a bygone era. There were Hot Wheels cars and superhero comic books, Lego pirate ships and Transformers robots, and even a GI Joe model airplane.

"Well, there's no question: these are certainly his toys," Arthur mumbled, spinning the airplane's propeller. It was modeled to look like a P-40 War Hawk from World War II, and it even fired toy missiles at the push of a button. "I should shoot this at him for being so late," Arthur said, firing the plastic missile across the room. He could picture Alfred doing the same thing as a child—only in that case, the missile's target would probably have been Matthew.

As he continued to examine the scatterings of assorted toys across the room, Arthur began to find himself oddly curious about their origins. Where had Alfred gotten them from? Had they been gifts? Christmas surprises, perhaps? Or had Alfred been let loose in a toy store somewhere and begged his parents to buy them for him? Arthur could picture Alfred as a child, and he imagined him to be the type of kid one simply couldn't say "no" to. But of course, these were all conjectures on Arthur's part. He really didn't know that much about Alfred, after all. Sure, he knew Alfred loved hamburgers, cheesy horror flicks, and his shiny red Cadillac, but he didn't really _know _who Alfred was as a person. And that was what bothered him—because he _wanted_ to know. He wanted to know _everything _about Alfred, even something as trivial as where he had gotten his toys. And he wanted to know broader things too, like what Alfred dreamt of doing with his life—where he planned to go, what he planned to do, and whom he planned to share it with . . .

"Damn it, where are you?" Arthur growled, body trembling. He could no longer suppress his fear. What if something had happened to Alfred? A simple trip to the convenience store should never be taking _this_ long. There could only be one explanation: something horrible must have happened to Alfred. Arthur pictured him lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding and unconscious. He imagined his bike smashed to pieces with Alfred sprawled out on the pavement, alone and immobilized . . .

_I have to do something. I have to find him . . ._

Springing forward, Arthur left the tree-house without even bothering to use the ladder; he jumped down in one go, landing softly upon the ground below. It was a feat he wouldn't have imagined he could pull off so easily, but there was something about the image of Alfred, hurt and defenseless, that lit a fire in his soul. Without missing a beat, he dashed back across the yard and into the house, heading for the front door. He hadn't planned anything out, so he had no idea what he was going to do, but he couldn't just stand around anymore. He had to take action—he had to at least _try _to find Alfred. The worst he could do was fail. _But in this case, failure isn't an option_, he thought. So he would just have to extend twice as much effort. Alfred had saved him before, so now it was his duty to return the favor. With this in mind, he swung the mansion's front door open—

-And came face to face with a bewildered Alfred.

At first, Arthur wondered if he were imagining it. But after getting past the initial shock, he soon realized that Alfred was indeed standing in front of him.

"Hey, you must be psychic or something, 'cause I was just about to open the door when you—"

_Whap! _Alfred never got the chance to finish his thought, as he was promptly and mercilessly clocked in the face by Arthur.

"WHERE-THE-BLOODY-HELL-HAVE-YOU-BEEN?" Arthur growled, forcing every word out from behind gritted teeth. His face was the very portrait of fury, and his eyes seemed to be filled with a demonic glow; if there were such a thing as a death stare, he was shooting it at Alfred right now. And for the first time since they had met, Alfred was genuinely frightened of this crazed Englishman.

"Say, Arthur, you alright?" Alfred asked, chuckling nervously. His jaw was sore from where Arthur had punched him, but he tried not to show it. "I know I'm kinda late, but—"

"'Kind of' late?" Arthur echoed, rather darkly. "You're nearly three hours late, and that's all you have to say for yourself? I thought for sure you were lying on the side of the road somewhere, bleeding out of your skull—"

"So you were _that _worried about me, huh?" Alfred asked, slight grin visible on his face. Cutting short his rant, Arthur donned a pouting expression, scrunching up his eyebrows.

"I was only worried you'd gotten yourself into some annoying situation I'd have to come help you with," he muttered, looking away. "All you ever do is get yourself in trouble, so it wasn't much of a stretch to assume . . . and what the hell happened to your glasses? Not to mention your face!"

"Oh, you mean this little thing?" Arthur asked, pointing to the prominent bruise swelling on his forehead. "Well, you see, what happened was . . . it was kinda funny, actually . . ."

"I'm listening," Arthur told him, unamused.

"Well, the thing was, I . . . I tripped on the sidewalk and got knocked unconscious . . . yeah, and that's how I cracked my glasses and got this bruise. By the time I came to, it was pretty late," Alfred lied, determined not to tell Arthur the truth about his kidnapping. "But really, I'm sorry about making you wait, Arthur. You know I'd never do anything like that to you on purpose, right?"

"Hmph," Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms. "If it were anyone else, I wouldn't believe it, but when it comes to you . . . I suppose such a clumsy excuse fits. It just goes to show what an idiot you are."

"Heh heh, that's me," Alfred laughed, scratching his head. "But hey, I'll make it up to you! Wait for me out back. I'll go grab and new pair of glasses and be there in a sec." With this, he sprinted up the stairs, and Arthur headed for the back door.

_I wonder how he intends to 'make it up to me,' _Arthur thought, stepping outside. _With him, it could be anything . . ._

"I'm back!" Alfred announced a moment later, joining Arthur in the yard.

"And?"

"And follow me," Alfred insisted, starting off across the lawn.

"Where to?"

"Just the stables."

"Stables? Here?" Arthur repeated. _Though I shouldn't sound so surprised. _

"Yeah, but we only keep a few horses around," Alfred said. "You ever ridden one before?"

"Of course I have," Arthur insisted, not bothering to mention that it had only lasted for about five minutes—and it had been a miniature pony, back when he was four years old.

"Cool, then we can go for a ride!"

Arthur was suddenly hit with a wave of nervousness. "But won't they be sleeping right now? Maybe we shouldn't wake—"

"I'm sure they won't mind if we wake 'em up just this once," Alfred said, winking. "I mean, you _want _to go for a ride, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure if I—"

Turning around, Alfred suddenly donned a grieved expression, as though Arthur had just told him the Easter Bunny wasn't real. It was such a pitiable face that Arthur couldn't help but succumb to its charms, finally replying with, "Hmm, well, I suppose a brief ride couldn't do any harm—"

"Great!" Alfred exclaimed, instantly perking back up. "Come on!" Grabbing Arthur's hand, he led him across the garden and toward the stables.

"Hey, that whole thing was just an act, wasn't it, you git!" Arthur barked, noticing how quickly Alfred's demeanor had changed.

"An act? What are you talking about? Really, Arthur, you have the craziest ideas sometimes," Alfred said, laughing. Arthur would have replied with some snippy remark, but he was too preoccupied trying to calm his pounding heart. Alfred was holding his hand, after all. So he just decided to let the moment be.

xxx

It turned out that the Jones's stables housed five horses, and Alfred roused and saddled two of them before bringing them out to where Arthur was waiting.

"Here, you can ride this one. Her name's Cinnamon," Alfred said, referring to a lovely light brown mare. "And this white one's Peppermint."

_It figures, _Arthur thought._ He even names his horses after sweets._

"Cinnamon's pretty calm, so she shouldn't give you any trouble," Alfred went on. Arthur nodded, gently petting Cinnamon's side. "Do you need any help mounting her?"

"I'm fine," Arthur assured him. _Although I don't know what the hell I'm doing. _Placing one of his feet in the saddle's stirrup, he made an attempt to hoist himself up, but it didn't do the trick. Immediately, he began to blush, fully aware of Alfred's eyes on him. _I must look like a bloody fool, _he thought, trying again and failing to make it to the saddle. "Heh, heh," he laughed, trying to sound as cavalier as possible, "I guess it's been a while since I've done this."

"Riiight," Alfred replied, sounding none too convinced. "Well, you keep on trying then, and I'll be right back." At this, he turned and led Peppermint back to the stables.

"What's he doing?" Arthur mumbled. Behind him, Cinnamon nuzzled her head against his shoulder. "Good girl," he said, rubbing her ears. "What do you suppose that idiot's up to now?" Cinnamon neighed in response, and Arthur wheeled around to see that Alfred had returned—but without Peppermint.

"Where's your horse?" Arthur asked.

"Right here," Alfred replied, patting Cinnamon. Then, in one effortless motion, he swung himself up onto her back. Arthur watched in awe as he reached his hand out toward him. "We'll ride together."

"Wha—what?" Arthur stuttered, face turning scarlet.

"Since your riding skills seem a little—um—_rusty_, this will be easier," he explained. "Come on, I'll help you up."

For a moment, Arthur did nothing. He found himself completely immobilized by—what was it, fear? Confusion? Nervousness? And yet, at the same time, he felt something akin to elation . . . he wasn't entirely disappointed that he would have to ride with Alfred . . .

Just then, Cinnamon nudged him from behind, as though urging him forward. _She's right_, he thought, _I've been acting like such a coward when there's really nothing to fear . . ._

Placing his foot in the stirrup once more, Arthur took a hold of Alfred's hand. With his help, he was finally able to hoist himself up this time. He was sitting in front of Alfred, and he felt a shiver go up his spine at being so close to him.

"Hold onto the reigns," Alfred said.

"But I don't know how to—"

"Don't worry, I'll steer," Alfred assured him, reaching around Arthur to take hold of the reigns as well. Arthur felt his pulse speed up again—if it were possible for it to speed up anymore—when Alfred's arms reached around him. It almost felt like Alfred was holding him . . . and their hands were so close to one another at the reigns . . .

"Ready?" Alfred asked.

"Ah—y-yes!" Arthur blurted out. At this, Alfred snapped the reigns, and they were off.

xxx

As the night wore on, Cinnamon trotted along at a reasonable pace, much to Arthur's relief. He kept expecting Alfred to grow bored of the slow pace and try to kick it into high gear, but Alfred seemed content enough for once. And as for Arthur, he too found himself quite content. The anxiety of waiting for Alfred's return and the woes of Friday the 13th seemed far away, almost like a distant memory. Now, things were calm and soothing: the air was warm, the breeze was refreshing, and the moon was like a glowing beacon in the sky. Cinnamon's rhythmic trotting was almost lulling him to sleep, but even in his trance-like state, Arthur was acutely aware of Alfred at all times—especially the way Alfred's arms were still stretched around him.

_Just let things stay like this,_ Arthur thought, eyelids drooping. He was beginning to feel as though he were part of a dream. _Just like this . . . please . . ._

"You're not asleep, are you, Arthur?" Alfred suddenly asked, startling Arthur back to reality.

"How could I be asleep with you bellowing in my ear, you loud-mouthed—"

"Fine, then I'll whisper," Alfred breathed, sending shivers up Arthur's spine.

"I—I didn't know you were capable of whispering," Arthur remarked, attempting to hide his flustered state with snide remarks. But Alfred wasn't fooled.

"There are a lot of things I'm capable of that you don't know," he whispered in Arthur's ear, leaning in closer. "I can show you, if you want . . ."

"Wh—what are you talking—?"

But Arthur's thought hung forever unfinished in the air as he suddenly felt Alfred's lips against his neck. The feeling sent an electric jolt through his entire body. In fact, it caught him so off guard that he found himself lurching instinctively forward—an action which caused him to lose his balance and fall off of Cinnamon's back completely.

"Arthur? Are you all right?" Alfred called, bringing Cinnamon to a halt.

_All right? _Arthur thought, desperately trying to regain his breath. _I am bloody well _not_ all right! _Turning his head, he found both Alfred and Cinnamon staring at him like he was some rare species of cuckoo bird.

"I'm f-fine," Arthur finally said, rising shakily to his feet.

Alfred laughed. "Only you could manage to fall off like that, Arthur!"

_As though your surprise attack had nothing to do with it! _Arthur thought, biting his lip. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, not when Alfred was laughing like that. Damn that American and his devilish grin!

"So, you wanna get back up here?" Alfred asked, motioning for Arthur to join him again.

"That's quite all right," Arthur remarked, head still reeling over what had happened. "I'm suddenly feeling rather fatigued. I think I'll turn in for the night." He made a bee-line for the Jones's mansion, but he didn't make it far.

"Arthur, wait!" Alfred called, dismounting and hurrying to catch up. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong—"

"I need to be alone," Arthur interrupted, not daring to look at him. The whole thing was just so painful and confusing . . . things had been perfectly pleasant before, when the two of them had been trotting along at a slow and steady pace. But when Alfred had tried to speed things up . . . why did he have to _do _that? Things had been fine before, and they could have stayed that way . . . now they were just messy and jumbled, and Arthur didn't want to have to face any of it . . .

"If you really want to be alone, that's fine," Alfred said at last. "But you should know that my parents are going on another business trip tomorrow, and they want me to come with them this time."

Arthur froze, realizing this might be his last chance to see Alfred before the trip. He wanted to say something, but he found himself unable to form words.

"You know, Arthur, if you don't want me to, I won't go . . ."

"No, you shouldn't miss it," Arthur insisted at last. "It sounds important, so you should go." It was the logical answer that his mind had come up with, but he wasn't so sure if his heart agreed. He wasn't so sure what his heart felt at all anymore.

"Then I guess I'll go," Alfred said, looking a little disappointed. "It might take a couple of weeks . . . but when I get back, it'll probably be around my birthday! We should celebrate it together."

Arthur turned and nodded once more before starting off again for the mansion. So Alfred would be gone for a couple of weeks . . . perhaps that would give him time to sort things out. Arthur was in no way certain about his feelings, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't keep running away like this. He would have to face things sooner or later, and it seemed that Alfred's birthday was slated to be the destined time.

xxx

Well, that's it for this chapter! Oh Arthur, why must you always run away? You can't stay in denial forever . . .

You guys may have noticed that the P-40 Warhawk is a reference to the plane Alfred shows Arthur in episode 26 (the one Arthur thinks looks pretty stupid). But actually, I didn't just throw it in there randomly…it's a real toy! My brother had one of these toy planes and used to its shoot missiles at me when we were little! I figured that this "awesome" model plane is the kind of toy that Alfred would be sure to have, so I had to put it in there XD

And on a random note, anybody seen the most recent Hetalia World Series episode? Alfie's SOOO cute when he's eating chocolate! *fangirl squee*And it's even better knowing that it's chocolate he had stashed under his shirt XD

Next chapter: Alfred's birthday will be coming up . . . which means some crazy sh** will be goin' down lol. Let's just leave it at that.

So please don't forget to REVIEW! And I'll see you guys next time :D


	10. Ch 10: Prelude

FINALLY the next chapter! Sorry about the long wait . . . I've been busy with schoolwork, but now the semester's winding down (only 3 more weeks till summer! Huzzah!) I still feel pretty guilty, so I made sure this chapter was a decent length for you guys :D

Just to clarify, this is basically the chapter leading up to the birthday party (hence the "prelude" title). The birthday storyline will last for a few chapters ('cause it's REALLY important !) So this is kinda like the calm before the storm . . . only it's not really that calm XD

Now, thanks to all who reviewed: **BwaBwaimagoat, ImaduckQuaQua, MeLaNch0LYdreams, Lydiacatfish, Deidara'sgirl19, xxalexisurgodxx, MataHari-Chan, Phamenia, Yuu-chi, Hungary, TheWonderBunny, IchigoMelon**, and **MimmiTheOtaku**!

And to answer a few questions . . .

At: **BwaBwaimagoat**: There's going to be a little bit of a time skip, but not too much . . . so read on!

At **Deidara'sgirl19**: I usually watch the episodes on Funimation's Youtube channel. I think the season's come to a close though, hasn't it? *sobs* And yes, being in denial _is_ very bad for Arthur's health!

At **Lydiacatfish**: Yep, the P-40 Warhawk is the Flying Tiger. I was just too lazy to add the "Flying Tiger" name in there XD And that story about the plane _does _sound like something Alfred would do! Kinda like the whole "paint Mt. Fuji red" thing! Alfred has the craziest ideas, but that's why we love him lol

At **MataHari-Chan: **Lol, don't worry, it's not a sin to ask for a filler chapter! I planned on including this chapter before diving into the birthday stuff anyway, so our thoughts are on the same page. And there's even texting involved too! :) I'm trying not to rush things in this story, and sometimes it even feels like I'm going a little too slowly . . . but I hope this chapter helps ease your fears!

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Enjoy!

Ch 10: Prelude

It was only day one without Alfred around, and the Jones's estate already seemed like an entirely different place. The halls were noticeably quieter, almost to the point of being eerie. Arthur thought the silence golden at first, but then it just started feeling _strange_. After all, he had gotten so used to having Alfred around, despite the man's annoying tendencies . . . Come to think of it, the previous few days of Arthur's life had been entirely ruled by Alfred: he'd gone wherever Alfred had wanted him to go, done whatever Alfred had asked of him, and even roomed in Alfred's mansion. But now that Alfred was suddenly gone, things just felt a bit . . . empty.

Of course, on the plus side, things were considerably more peaceful without the rowdy American around. It reminded Arthur of what his life had been like back in London, when he was living alone. Things had been so much more relaxing back then.

_Of course, if that idiot were here, he'd accuse me of reminiscing like an old man_, Arthur thought, grinning. But then he quickly caught himself and decided, _no, I'm not going to let him distract me. I'm going to focus on work. I'm not even going to think about him._

Naturally, this task proved much easier said than done.

It was six o'clock on the second morning after Alfred's departure, and Arthur was enjoying a deep sleep. In fact, he was dreaming of sparkly, fluffy unicorns when he was violently awoken by the ringing of his cell phone. At first, his mind flashed back to the ringing of the fire alarm in his hotel room, and he toppled out of bed in a frenzied panic. But then, once his mind had regained its senses, he came to realize it was only his phone, and his emotion changed from one of panic to sheer vexation.

"This had better be a bloody emergency," he grumbled, scrambling to open his phone, "because if it isn't, I swear to God I'll—" But he was suddenly stricken silent, for as he flipped open his phone, he came face to face with a grinning photo of Alfred. Apparently, it had been programmed to pop up when Alfred called, but Arthur hadn't been the one to change the setting. That smug bastard had sabotaged it when he wasn't looking!

And so, with all the fury of Hell raging inside him, Arthur answered the phone.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER!" he roared into the speaker. "What the hell do you want?"

"Good morning to you too, Arthur!" Alfred replied, sounding rather amused. "Did you like my photo?" When Arthur responded with a string of unintelligible curses, Alfred only laughed. "Come on, I just wanted to make sure you'd know it was me calling."

"Who else would bother phoning me at six in the morning?"

"Six? Oh, that's right!" Alfred began, like he had suddenly remembered something. "I'm in Wisconsin, so I'm two hours ahead of you! It's 8 o'clock here right now, and I just got up. Sorry 'bout that!" He finished his sentence with some more obnoxious laughter, prompting Arthur to wonder how he could be so chipper this early in the morning. But then again, he had probably chugged a good bit of coffee before their conversation began. Not that he really needed the caffeine.

"Don't you have some sort of business to attend to, considering you're _supposedly _on a business trip at the moment?" Arthur grumbled.

"Hey, you don't have to be so grumpy," Alfred shot back. "I'm actually on my way to a business meeting now. I just thought I'd call and check in. Make sure you're still breathing without me around."

"Well, I haven't collapsed yet, if that's what you're wondering."

"Yeah, but it must be pretty boring without me!"

"Actually, the word you're looking for is _peaceful_."

"Yeah right! Say whatever you want, but I know you miss me."

Arthur felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered the night before Alfred left, when the two of them had gone horseback riding and Alfred had kissed his neck . . . it was an image he had tried hard to block out of his mind, but it kept coming back to the surface at times like these.

"I—I do _not _miss you!" Arthur stuttered, sounding about as unconvincing as possible. "And I resent the fact that you woke me up simply to make snide comments about—"

"Fine, fine, I won't call you next time," Alfred interrupted. "I'll just text you, okay? That way, you won't have to answer if you don't want to. Or you could always just turn off your phone if you're so concerned about your beauty sleep."

"Then maybe I will!" Arthur snapped, though it was an empty threat. Of course he wouldn't turn off his phone. He _did_ miss Alfred, after all. If he didn't, he wouldn't have bothered answering the phone in the first place.

"Well, I gotta go now anyway," Alfred told him. "It's almost time for the meeting. Talk to you later!" Arthur only had time to respond with a quick good-bye before the call was ended. Alfred's grinning picture was gone from his phone's screen, and Arthur was suddenly left feeling very alone.

_What's the matter with me? _he wondered as he crept back into bed. He almost felt feverish, thinking about Alfred. His words kept ringing in his ear: "I know you miss me." And for some reason, Arthur couldn't get the memory of their horseback ride out of his mind. It kept playing over and over again like a broken reel, and Arthur was powerless to stop it. Guiltily, he held his phone in front of him, searching until he found the picture Alfred had loaded into it. And once he did, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. Because he wanted _more _of Alfred, but he was too scared to admit it. He wanted to feel Alfred's lips against his neck again, but he was too scared of the consequences. So instead, he closed himself off. Clamping his cell phone shut, he pulled the bedcovers over his head and held his unicorn plushie close, trying desperately to forget the world. And to him, that meant forgetting Alfred, because at the moment, it seemed Alfred _was _his world.

xxx

After sleeping in, Arthur rose a few hours later, hunger finally urging him out of bed. Still trying to keep his mind off of Alfred, he made his way toward the kitchen, aiming to whip up some of his "tasty" scones for breakfast. But when he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find Matthew already there.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were here," Arthur began, "I'd forgotten that you—" He was going to say "I'd forgotten that you lived here," but considering how pathetic that sounded, he settled for, "I'd forgotten that you . . . might be preparing a meal at this time of day."

"Actually, I don't really cook that much, but I do enjoy making pancakes. Do you want some?" Matthew asked in his usual whispery voice, holding out a plate of round, golden-brown hotcakes. Arthur nodded and thanked him, taking a seat at the table. "Would you like some maple syrup with that?" Matthew went on, holding up the bottle. When Arthur agreed, Matthew began to drench the pancakes with syrup.

"Uh, I believe that's plenty," Arthur intervened, staring blankly at his smothered pancakes.

"Oh, sorry!" Matthew said, stopping. "I'm just so used to pouring this much for Alfred . . ."

"Yes, I can imagine he _would _insist upon drowning his pancakes with syrup."

Matthew nodded. "Usually, he also adds butter, powdered sugar, and whipped cream."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Arthur mumbled, though he inwardly wondered how Alfred could even taste the pancake anymore with so many toppings on it.

"So, did Alfred call you yet?" Matthew asked, causing Arthur to nearly choke on his food. Passing him a pitcher of juice, Matthew said, "I'll take that as a yes."

"How did you know?" Arthur asked.

"Because whenever he's away, he always calls me too—or he used to, before I started turning my phone off."

"I see. So you grew wise to his tricks then, eh?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, I've learned how to deal with him over the years. Not that it isn't still challenging . . ." He let out a rather strained laugh. "Sorry I didn't warn you he'd be calling."

"It's fine," Arthur insisted, not really eager to discuss the phone conversation. "By the way, this food's really excellent."

"Thanks," Matthew replied, though he had no intention of letting Arthur change the topic so easily. "So did he mention his birthday party to you yet?"

"Not extensively. Why?"

"I just thought I'd give you a heads up. He gets awfully excited about his party, and he likes to share his ideas with everyone he talks to. He already called me yesterday to ask if he thought we should have more fireworks than last year . . . and I suggested we shouldn't, since he _did _set one of our trees on fire back then. I don't think he was listening to me, though."

"Well, I s'ppose he's aiming to burn down the whole backyard this time," Arthur scoffed. "Just to make it more memorable."

"Maybe you're right," Matthew laughed. "He _does_ take his birthday parties seriously."

"Will the entire thing be held here?"

"Yeah, he basically takes over the whole estate, including the house and backyard," Matthew answered, confirming Arthur's worst fears. "It goes on all day—sometimes all weekend too."

"I can imagine," Arthur said, although Matthew's facial expression seemed to suggest, _No, I don't think you can._

"Anyway, he's still in the process of planning it out," Matthew continued. "So he'll probably be asking for your advice."

"And will he be planning on _listening_ to any of that advice?"

"Probably not," Matthew said, smiling. "But it _is _his party, so he should do what he wants . . . of course, he always does what he wants anyway . . . only this time, he has an excuse for it."

"Brilliant," Arthur grumbled, already picturing a horrifying ordeal involving an entire house-ful of loud, overzealous Americans. And if Arthur knew Alfred at all, he knew he couldn't count on Alfred leaving him alone. He was sure Alfred would force him to actually _participate _in the mayhem, and he didn't look forward to the prospect of that at all.

_But I'll worry about that when it comes_, Arthur thought. _After all, he hasn't even started asking me about—_

At that moment, Arthur suddenly felt his phone vibrate, and he knew he had jinxed it. Sure enough, when he opened up the text message . . .

hey what flavor should my bday cake be?

"Well, it's begun," Arthur sighed. Matthew only smiled and offered him another round of pancakes.

xxx

Over the next couple of weeks, Arthur found himself bombarded with text messages regarding Alfred's ever-evolving birthday plans. From what Arthur could make out, the party was sure to be a monstrosity, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no reasoning with Alfred, and Arthur wasn't even going to waste his breath trying. Of course, that didn't stop Alfred from asking Arthur's opinion. But as to whether he intended to listen to any of those responses . . . that was another matter entirely.

Thanks to Alfred's incessant phone messages, it became clear to Arthur that he wasn't going to get any peace during Alfred's absence. He had thought he might have some time to calm down and think things over rationally while Alfred was gone, but that turned out to be a complete sham. It was all he could do to get his work done with Alfred constantly pestering him; he even had to start shutting off his phone entirely during his business meetings with Mr. Worthington . . . yes, it was clear that Alfred had no intention of letting Arthur forget about him during their separation . . .

. . . And Arthur had no intention of letting Alfred know it was getting to him.

_Zzzzzzzzzz. _Arthur had just sat down to look over some stock reports when his phone had started vibrating yet _again_.

_Let's see what he's on about this time._

hey i think i want 8 tiers 4 my cake

"Oh, not the bloody cake again," Arthur mumbled, clapping a hand to his forehead. A few days before, Alfred had sent over twenty texts debating what flavor the cake should be. In the end, he had decided to order a tiered cake in which each tier was a different flavor—that way, he wouldn't have to choose just one. So now it came time to decide just how many tiers that cake would be.

_Zzzzzz_. Another message. This one read: now i think i want 10 tiers And then, about five second afterward: no, how bout 13

Now Arthur _had _to reply. Urgently, he typed up, No! 13 is an unlucky number, you dolt! It took him a little while to type, considering he was determined to obey all the grammatical conventions of proper English. After all, Alfred's disgusting "texting" style English was a complete disgrace to the language. No true gentleman would be caught dead writing in such an atrocious style! But at last, Arthur finished typing and sent his message. He expected to receive a reply within the minute, but instead of vibrating, his phone started to ring.

"What are you ringing me up for _now_?" Arthur growled, holding the phone to his ear.

"This topic's too important for texting!" Alfred argued, as though it were a matter of life and death. "What's more important for a birthday party than the cake? I mean, except for the presents . . . say, Arthur, did you get me a present yet?"

"Oh, will you please try to stay on topic for once in your life?"

"So you _haven't _gotten me a present yet, have you?"

"I didn't say—"

"So you _have _gotten me one, then?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"Well, it'd better be something good. And not boring—like a book or something."

"I know better than to get a book for someone who's more or less illiterate," Arthur quipped. "And you know, after having to endure all of this pestering, _you're_ the one who should be getting _me_ a bleeding present!"

"Hmm." Alfred thought it over for a few seconds before finishing with, "I'll make sure you get a bigger piece of cake. How's that?"

"I don't want any of your grotesque cake," Arthur told him. "With all the food coloring going into that icing, I'd fear for my health."

"But it's the 4th of July! It _has _to have red, white, and blue icing!" Alfred argued. "And besides, at least _my_ cake won't taste like hazardous waste. You should put a warning label on those scones you bake—like the labels they put on cans of aerosol."

"You damn hooligan, how dare you—!"

"I mean, if you can survive on those scones all the time, eating my cake should be . . . well, a piece of cake!" Alfred went on, laughing at his own joke. "So anyway, speaking of my cake, I still have to decide how many tiers to order . . ."

_So now he decides to swerve back on track_, Arthur thought, about ready to toss his phone out the nearest window. _Right after he's annoyed me good and well, of course._

". . . So I was thinking I'd do 13 tiers," Alfred began, "You know, like the 13 original colonies! I mean, it's a 4th of July party too, so I thought it'd be perfect—"

"I told you, thirteen is an unlucky number," Arthur interrupted.

"Maybe for _you_, but not for me. My country won the war, after all!"

"Fine, then do as you please," Arthur growled. "See if I care whether your ridiculous cake is cursed or not. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Alfred laughed. "You worry too much, Arthur! This party's going to be awesome! I mean, aren't you excited? Don't you like parties?"

"Apparently not as much as you do."

" . . ." Alfred paused for a few seconds. "But you're still going to be there, right?"

Arthur blinked. For the first time since their conversation had started, Alfred actually sounded like he cared about Arthur's response.

"I—well, of course I'm going to be there," Arthur replied. But then, realizing how soft his answer sounded, he added, "I mean, Matthew told me your celebration practically consumes the whole estate, so I don't see that I really have a choice. Not that I plan on participating all that much . . ."

"Awww! But you should!" Alfred insisted. "There'll be lots to do! Don't you wanna try swinging at the piñatas or something?"

"Piñatas?"

"Yeah, I'll even order a unicorn-shaped one for you, if you want."

"That's quite all right," Arthur assured him. "I'm sure you can destroy a piñata with a single hit, so there's no sense in me swinging away for nothing."

"But there'll be other stuff too," Alfred assured him. "How about the pool?"

"I think I'll pass."

"You _can _swim, right?"

"I—of course I can."

"Yeah, about as well as you can horseback ride, huh?"

"T—that was different!" Arthur stammered, though it really wasn't that different at all. He actually couldn't swim either, but he didn't want to admit it. And what did it matter anyway? He wasn't planning on going into the water anytime soon—especially not at Alfred's birthday party.

"Well, if you don't like parties, what _do _you like?" Alfred asked him. "I mean, if it were your birthday, what would you wanna do?"

"I'm not sure . . ." Arthur began, caught off guard. No one had bothered asking him a question like that in a long time. "But I wouldn't make such a fuss over it . . . I'd probably spend it in private, in some pleasant, quiet spot, relaxing with my tea and a book . . . of course, I know how incredibly dull that must sound to someone as excitable as you, but—"

"Actually, I think it sounds nice," Alfred said, much to Arthur's shock. "Partying's great and all, but it's nice to relax sometimes too. I get it."

"Oh, well, that's good, I suppose . . ." Arthur trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Thankfully, Alfred took up the slack.

"Listen, I'd better get going soon, 'cause I've got a plane to catch."

"You're flying back already?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I'm flying back to California, but I've still got business to take care of before I come back," Alfred explained. "Sorry to get your hopes up. I know how much you miss me!"

"I already told you, I don't miss you," Arthur snapped.

"Really? Then how come you're always so eager to pick up the phone when I call? And how come you're always replying to my messages right away?"

Arthur blushed crimson, and he was glad Alfred wasn't there to see it. After gathering his wits for a few more seconds, he answered with, "I reply so promptly because I, unlike you, am a gentleman."

In response, Alfred burst out laughing.

"Yeah right!" he exclaimed. "Tell me another one!"

"Oh, I'll tell you another thing all right, you blundering #%&#—!"

"Save it for next time, Mr. Gentleman," Alfred interrupted. "I gotta go. But in case you're wondering, I'll be back in a few days. So I'll see you then."

"Fine," Arthur replied, cooling off.

"Oh, and Mom says hi."

"All right. Send her my regards."

"I will. Bye now!"

"G'bye."

xxx

"Arthur says he sends his regards," Alfred told his mother as he took a seat beside her on the first-class portion of the plane.

"Oh, he's such a sweetheart!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Bob's been giving me updates on their business meetings, and he says Arthur's just the politest man he's ever met!"

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far," Alfred mumbled, thinking back to the insults Arthur had hurled at him just a few moments before.

"I'm glad he's managing everything okay without us around," Mrs. Jones went on. "I hated to leave Mattie back there alone too, but . . ." She spared a quick glance behind her to ensure her husband wasn't listening. "Your father didn't think there was any reason to bring him along, and the trip sprang up on such short notice that I didn't really have time to argue . . . but Mattie's been a trooper—and Arthur too. I'm going to give them both a big hug when we get back home!"

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that," Alfred said, though he knew they probably wouldn't, considering the bone-crushing strength of his mother's hugs. "So what can you tell me about this vodka company we're going to visit with?"

"I don't know much about them," his mother admitted. "They're based in Russia, but they just opened up an office in the US. I know it's run by someone named Ivan something-or-other . . . anyway, your father thought it would be a good idea to foster a business relationship with them, so that's why we're going."

"Okay. Doesn't sound too strenuous," Alfred said, leaning back in his seat.

If he had known what he was getting himself into, he wouldn't have dared utter such a thing.

xxx

"Stand up straight, Alfred, and don't slouch. We want to make a good first impression," Mr. Jones said, as they waited in the hall of the vodka company's main building.

"I'm _not _slouching," Alfred muttered. "Since when have I ever slouched?"

"That's enough, you two," Mrs. Jones said, playing the mediator once again. "Bickering will only make a worse impression. So hush up before I clock you both!"

Alfred grudgingly obeyed, looking away to examine the hallway they were currently standing in. Even though it was the vodka company's North American headquarters, it didn't really feel like an office building. For some reason, it felt more like a prison, complete with intimidating guards patrolling every floor. It almost made Alfred wonder if the company had something to hide, but before he could fully consider the subject, he noticed someone approaching their group.

"H-hello," a young woman said, smiling nervously as she addressed them. She had short, light-colored hair, and her chest was practically bursting out of her shirt, but she seemed nice enough. "I'm Mr. Braginski's older sister. P-Please follow me, and I'll take you to him."

Nodding, the Joneses followed the woman down the hall and into a nearby conference room. Two more figures waited for them there, including the vodka company head himself.

"Hello," he greeted them, "My name is Ivan Braginski. I'm glad to finally meet you all." He was grinning as he said it, but there was something off about his smile. Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on it, but . . . it was like the man was exuding some kind of dark aura. He was an intimidating figure to begin with, considering his height (he was even taller than Alfred!), and the fact that he wore a long coat and scarf (which automatically made Alfred think he was trying to conceal something). And although his face appeared to be a portrait of innocence, Alfred got the distinct feeling there was more to it than that.

"Allow me to introduce my sisters," Ivan went on, voice heavy with a Russian accent. "This is my big sister Sofia," he said, gesturing to the woman who had met them in the hall. She still looked as nervous and awkward as ever, though she didn't seem to be exuding any threatening aura like her brother. "And this is my little sister, Natasha," he informed them, gesturing to a woman standing to his right. She was quite beautiful, with flowing hair, dark blue eyes, and a stylish dress. Unfortunately, her beauty was overshadowed by a threatening aura similar to her brother's—or maybe even _more _threatening, because she wasn't really trying to hide it. Unlike her brother, she wasn't smiling or acting sweet. Mostly, she just kept her eyes on Ivan, almost like a cat lying in wait to pounce. Ivan didn't seem too thrilled about it either, as he avoided meeting her gaze. The whole thing made for a very strange atmosphere in the room—and one that Alfred was all too eager to escape from.

_Please just finish this meeting fast, _Alfred thought as his father conversed with the Braginskis. _This place is starting to feel like a lunatic asylum. _

"Ah, Alfred," Ivan said, taking Alfred by surprise. "I've heard a lot about you. I know we'll be good friends, yes?" He began to smile again, but it only succeeded in creeping Alfred out even more.

"Uh . . . sure we'll be friends . . ."

"Then I look forward to seeing you all again soon," Ivan went on. Though he was addressing all of the Joneses, he was looking directly at Alfred as he said it.

It made Alfred feel very grateful that their meeting was drawing to a close.

xxx

After the Joneses had left the building and were safely out of earshot, Alfred took the opportunity to exclaim, "Man, that was the creepiest dude I've ever met in my life!"

"Really? I thought he sounded like a nice young man," his mother said, apparently oblivious to the dark aura Ivan was exuding. "He had such a nice smile too. His younger sister seemed a little stiff, I'll admit, but—"

"Are you kidding me?" Alfred interrupted. "It was like—like—they were the KGB or something!"

"That's absurd, Alfred," his father told him. "Don't go accusing them of anything. They're going to be an important business contact for us in the future; we don't want to alienate them."

"Wait, you mean you're seriously thinking about doing business with them!"

"Of course," his father said. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Well then, count me out," Alfred grumbled. "_You_ can deal with them, and I'll just stay out of it."

"Ordinarily, I wouldn't disagree with you," Mr. Jones replied. "Especially considering your unprofessional behavior at the moment. But it seems like Mr. Braginski took a liking to you, so I think it would be to our advantage if you continued meeting with him as well."

"What? Like hell I'm going to—"

"Alfred, honey, please just give it a few days," his mother told him, putting her arm around his shoulders. "Maybe once you've thought it over a bit, you'll realize there wasn't anything strange about Mr. Braginski at all. I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you. I suppose I let you watch too many Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons as a child—"

"It has nothing to do with that!" Alfred insisted, though he was tired of arguing with his parents. He especially didn't want to argue with his mother, so he decided to put his misgivings aside for the time being and focus on something else . . . like his birthday . . . and Arthur.

_I'll be back home soon_, he thought._ I'll be able to see Arthur again, and it's almost my birthday! _

That was right. Nothing could spoil his birthday, not even Ivan Braginski.

_This year will be the best birthday ever! _he told himself, grinning. _No question about it!_

xxx

Well, there you have it! Ivan makes his *terrifying* debut! I think he's hiding his lead pipe under his coat. Sorry if it seemed like the scene was a little rushed, but he'll be back—I promise! And just a few short notes on naming: Belarus's human name is sometimes called "Natalia" but I personally liked Natasha better, so I went with that. Ukraine doesn't have an official human name, but Sofia was one of the possible human names considered for her, and I thought it was pretty, so I used it. :D Oh, and for those of you who aren't familiar with the "Rocky and Bullwinkle" reference, it's a cartoon from the 1950's/60's in which the two main villains were spies named Boris and Natasha. They were essentially comedic villains with Russian accents (even though they were supposedly from some made-up country called Pottsylvania). So Alfred's mom was saying he watched too much of this show and now thinks suspiciously of people with Russian accents. XD So what does Ivan have in store for Alfred . . . ? You'll just have to wait and see! *laughs evilly*

And I had to get Mattie and his maple syrup in there just this once! He finally gets the kitchen to himself now that Alfred isn't around XD

And on a completely unrelated note, I was registering for next semester's classes when I came across this one course that had the topic "Ghosts in English Fiction" XD It made me think of Arthur so much! This would be like his ideal class topic :D I totally signed up for it too! And I also signed up for this class on graphic novels, though I doubt we'll be studying manga lol Still, I can dream, can't I?

Next chapter: Birthday madness begins (for real!) What present do you guys think Arthur will get for Alfie?

So I hope you guys enjoyed this chaptie, and I promise to get the next one up in a more timely manner! And please don't forget to REVIEW! More reviews = next chapter faster!

Everybody have a great week, and I'll see you guys next time!


	11. Ch 11: Party Time

Hey everybody, it's new chapter time :D

Thanks to all who reviewed for the previous chapter: **stabbythings, Sha-Lin, ****xxalexisurgodxx****, ****XxBleedingSoulxX2828****, ****BwaBwaimagoat****, ****Deidara'sgirl19****, IchigoMelon, JewishLolita, Hungary, Katie (aka britishchocolate), Yuu-chi**, and **HamburgerWithTea**!

At **HamburgerWithTea: **There is a WWII plane called a Mustang, but it was the P-51 model as opposed to the P-40 Warhawk (plane names are so confusing XD). They look kinda similar, but I think the one in Hetalia was the Warhawk. It's cool that you collect them :D WWII planes are awesome!

At **Yuu-chi**: I completely understand what you mean about fanfiction messing up. When I posted chapter 10, it didn't show up for a whole day because the site was screwing up so badly XD Hopefully it won't be an ongoing thing. And yeah, I can't believe it's been 10 chapters either!

At **Katie**: lol, I heard from a British guy in my class that British chocolate is also the best thing ever, so I guess it must be true! Now I wanna try some XD

Also, thanks to Katie and XxBleedingSoulxX2828 for alerting me of Ukraine's real name (you learn something new every day!). I feel like a bad fan for not knowing it XD But since I started with Sofia, I'll keep that for the sake of continuity.

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

So, without further ado . . .

Ch 11: Party Time

"BLOODY HELL!" Arthur exclaimed, jolting upright in his bed. This time, he had been awoken by the annoying sound of a party noisemaker ringing in his ear. It didn't take long to discover the perpetrator of the crime either: Alfred was standing over him, the party favor in his hand—it was the kind you blow into, just to annoy the crap out of everybody within a ten-foot radius.

"How did you get in my room?" Arthur growled, rubbing his eyes.

"It's my birthday!" Alfred answered, as though this detail excused his breaking and entering.

"Right. Happy birthday. But I don't see what that has to do with me. It's—" Arthur glanced at the clock. "It's . . . six o'clock in the morning?"

"Well, I didn't wanna waste any time," Alfred explained. "I mean, how can I sleep when it's my birthday—the most awesome day of the year!" He took a breath to blow into his noisemaker again, but Arthur snatched the thing away before he had the chance.

"If _you_ want to be up and about, fine, but don't insist that_ I _do the same," he said, ripping the noise-maker in two. Not that it mattered—Alfred was hiding away three more in his pocket. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep."

"Awww, Arthur, you're no fun," Alfred said, puckering his lips. "I guess you're just too old to handle such excitement."

Arthur shot him a death stare. "We'll see how exciting it is when I strangle you for—"

He was cut off by Alfred's obnoxious laughter. "Come on, Arthur, it was just a joke. You're so funny when you're mad!"

Blushing, Arthur pulled the covers over his head, mumbling something that sounded very much like "Sod off."

"Okay, I'll see you later then!" Alfred said, leaving and shutting the door behind him.

_If this is any indication of how the day's going to go, I don't have much to look forward to . . . besides a world of torment and pain, that is. _The thought made Arthur long to stay tucked away beneath his bedcovers. Of course, he knew Alfred would never stand for that. After all, it was hardly a birthday if he didn't get to annoy the Englishman out of his mind.

So far, he was doing an excellent job of it.

xxx

Even hidden away in his room, Arthur found he couldn't escape the buzz surrounding Alfred's birthday. Every few minutes, he kept hearing music pumping out from speakers in the backyard. And then there was Alfred's hurried footfalls as he sped up and down the stairs at random intervals, making it sound as though a T-Rex was stomping around the house. Plus, his booming voice—along with his mother's—was enough to wake the dead, especially when coupled with that annoying laugh of his. No, it didn't look like Arthur would be getting any more sleep today. The Jones's mansion had gone from sanctuary to asylum in a matter of seconds, and Arthur had a feeling it was going to stay that way for quite a while.

By roughly ten o'clock, Arthur decided there was no longer any use in staying in bed. Removing the pillow he had pressed to his ears, he got dressed and headed down the Jones's staircase. With each step, the noises from below grew louder and louder, and his anxiety skyrocketed along with it. He tried to brace himself for what he'd find, but he soon abandoned the effort.

In a nutshell, the scene downstairs could only be described as pure chaos. It reminded Arthur of Matthew's graduation day, only multiplied by about ten. There were workers busily pinning banners and streamers to the ceiling while others inflated balloons and tied them in bunches to the furniture. Outside, a live band was practicing their songs, and Arthur could hear a never-ending line of trucks stopping off to deliver party goods out front. Meanwhile, every few seconds, workers stomped through the room carrying grilling equipment and coolers full of food, and chefs kept popping in to ask Mrs. Jones and Alfred questions about the menu selections. It was a marvel to see just how much effort was going into this party. But then again, when it came to the Joneses, the word "moderation" didn't exist.

Glancing to the side, Arthur noticed Matthew hiding out in the corner, clearly not wishing to get swept up into the melee. It made Arthur suddenly very jealous of Matthew's powers of invisibility. For a while, Arthur held out hope that he too might go unnoticed, but his luck didn't hold.

"Hey Arthur!" Alfred called, making his way across the room. To do so, he had to duck under a table two workers were carrying outside. "You're finally up!"

"Well, I couldn't bloody well sleep with this din going on, could I?" Arthur remarked, gesturing to the room at large. "I should have known there'd be no peace around here once your—"

"Arthur!" Mrs. Jones squealed, trotting over and pulling him into one of her bone-crushing embraces. "So good to see you! I hope we didn't disturb you with all our chatter."

"Of course not, Mrs. Jones. I couldn't hear a thing," Arthur lied, causing Alfred to raise an eyebrow. Mrs. Jones remained happily oblivious to it, though.

"Oooh, is this box here for my little Alfie?" she asked, referring to the gift Arthur was holding. When he nodded, she proceeded to take it from him and start shaking it like a bottle of pop, trying to discern its contents.

"Mom, it's my present!" Alfred pointed out, stealing it away from her. "I should be the one doing that!"

"I know, but I just love gifts!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I can't wait to find out what's in all of them!"

"Me neither," Alfred added, eyeing Arthur closely. Clearly, the gift in his hand was the one he most wanted to open. Arthur, however, offered him no clue as to its contents.

_I hope he likes it, _Arthur thought. _Not that I really care, of course . . . I mean, if he doesn't fancy it, that's his problem. Not like it's going to upset me or anything . . ._

"So what're you going to do until the party starts, Arthur?" Mrs. Jones asked.

"When does it begin, officially?"

"Well, the guests will probably start coming in around three," Alfred replied. "But it'll be in full swing by sundown!"

"And all through the night, too, if we're lucky!" Mrs. Jones piped up, every bit as excited as her son.

"I see," Arthur said, trying not to cringe. "Well, I suppose I'll just be . . . floating about, then. Maybe I'll take a stroll outside."

"Good idea. It's a lovely day—a little hot, but still nice," Mrs. Jones said. "But Alfie and me need to get back to work. So much to do and so little time!"

"Indeed."

"I'll see you later then, Arthur!" Alfred called as his mother tugged him away.

Afterward, Arthur spared a glance toward Matthew, whose expression seemed to suggest, "I tried to warn you."

_Indeed you did, _Arthur thought, _but I seriously doubt a "warning" could have saved me from this._

xxx

For the next few hours, Arthur stayed true to his word by "floating" around from place to place, watching the workmen set up for the party as guests began to shuffle in a few at a time. Arthur tried to escape it all by taking a walk amongst the gardens, but he could still hear the blaring music just as loudly from there. So as the day dragged onward, he decided he might as well return to the Jones's backyard; after all, even he was interested in seeing how the finished decorations would look. It was sure to be an impressive spectacle, if nothing else. And when he finally arrived back at the mansion, he found out it didn't disappoint.

Tents and pavilions had been set up all over the Jones's backyard area, and the place was decked out with balloons, streamers, pinwheels, and American flags. Rows of lights had been strung up across the house and tents, though they weren't yet visible in the light of day. Long tables had been placed beneath many of the tents, and chefs were starting to fire up the grills already. Of course, the 4th of July theme had been carried through on everything: the balloons, the tablecloths and napkins, the party favors and hats—all were red, white, and blue. A stage had been set up, complete with a band and an expensive PA system so that the music would reach every corner of the property. Patriotic songs seemed to be the band's forte, and Arthur could tell it wouldn't be long before he'd have a throbbing headache from all of it.

"So how do you like it? Awesome, right?" Alfred said, startling Arthur, who hadn't realized he was standing behind him.

"It's—well, it's completely gaudy and obnoxious. In other words, it's perfect for you."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Alfred said, slapping a party hat onto Arthur's head. "Just wait till everybody gets here—"

"Alfred, there're some more guests arriving!" his mother shouted from the back door.

"Okay!" he called. Then, turning to Arthur, he mumbled, "She told me I have to greet all of them at the door."

"How unreasonable," Arthur scoffed. "She actually expects you to have manners? Absurd!"

"I know, right? We can't all be gentlemen like you." Then, in a mock English accent, "If you'll be so kind as to excuse me, sir . . ."

"You're excused. And your accent's terrible."

"What are you talking about? I was perfect!" Alfred argued, heading back toward the mansion. "And by the way, you look great in that hat! Real gentlemanly!" He laughed as Arthur quickly swiped the hat off his head.

_I forgot I was even wearing this hideous thing_, he thought, staring at the glittery hat. _That's right, Arthur, only true gentlemen wear ridiculous party hats. _He chuckled at the thought of it. There was no way he was putting this thing back on, not even for Alfred's sake.

xxx

Slowly but surely, the party guests began to trickle in and fan themselves out across the backyard. Arthur deliberately kept his distance, uneager to socialize with them. But staying out of the crowd became more and more difficult as the backyard began to fill up with people; within an hour, the entire place had been invaded, and there was no way Arthur could escape it. The guests ranged from business contacts to Alfred's old high school buddies, and of course, there were plenty of girls. Every guest brought a present for Alfred, which they piled atop a massive table in a pyramid-shaped formation. Arthur couldn't even see where his own present was anymore, as it had apparently been buried beneath all the others.

The music was in full swing now, and the chefs were busily whipping up the food. There were several buffet tables littered with various snacks: chips and dip, cheetos, pretzels, popcorn, plus sweets like donuts and cupcakes. Arthur also noticed an abundance of cotton candy and snow cone machines; it was like the place was a miniature carnival. And for the main course, grilled hamburgers and hot dogs—would Alfred have it any other way? But of course, to no one's surprise, the most impressive edible achievement was the cake. As Alfred had insisted, it indeed sported thirteen layers, with flavors ranging from chocolate to red velvet to cheesecake. But the icing was all red, white, and blue, with candles sprinkled about and a flag topping off the whole thing. It was a creation only Alfred could have designed.

And speaking of designs, Alfred had ordered a number of candy-stuffed piñatas for the celebration as well. Many of them were patriotic in nature (stars, eagles, flags), but there was also one shaped like a whale and another like a polar bear (that one was for Matthew, of course). Alfred made the piñata games look painfully easy; every time he swung at one, he nearly broke the piñata in two. But Mrs. Jones proved even more skilled at it than her son. When she swung, she really _did _break her piñatas in two, sending candy flying halfway across the yard. And later, Alfred more or less forced Arthur to participate (Alfred had ordered a unicorn-shaped one for him, after all). Arthur didn't do too well at first, but then he decided to pretend the piñata was Alfred, and that made it much easier to pummel. He managed to break it open at least, and that was enough to pacify Alfred for a while.

As the sun began to dip across the horizon, the strings of lights became more and more visible, and the party guests became more and more drunk. Naturally, there was plenty of alcohol to go around (the Joneses were famous for their wine, after all). And even though Alfred was technically underage, no one seemed to care. Meanwhile, Arthur wisely turned down the offers to join in any drinking games. He had been drunk before, and it usually didn't turn out well for him. So he limited himself to one or two drinks, which he paired with a few snacks. Mostly, he spent his time simply watching the crowds go by, though he did bop in to observe Alfred during an eating contest. Naturally, he decimated all the competition. No one could gulp hamburgers like Alfred F. Jones.

Nevertheless, as darkness began to fall around him, Arthur's interest began to wane. This was the point at which he would have typically skipped out and gone home, but in this case, the mansion _was _his home, so there was nothing he could do. He could feel that headache starting to come on . . .

"Hey there," someone addressed him from behind. Turning, he noticed it was a girl—a very pretty, blonde-haired girl with a cowboy hat and star-spangled bikini. "You seem a little lonely there."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said, trying to avert his eyes from her rather shapely chest. "A bit of a headache, that's all."

"You're cute," she went on, tugging at his arm. "And your accent's sexy. Are you one of Alfie's friends?"

_Alfie? I thought only his mum called him that._

"We're business colleagues," Arthur told her, a little brashly. "What about you?"

"We dated for a little while back in high school," she said, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Little did she know how her words sent a jolt up Arthur's spine. Glancing suddenly back in Alfred's direction, Arthur cringed to see him surrounded by an entire flock of giggling girls—all of them beautiful and scantily clad, just like the one he was talking to.

"Yeah, it was nice while it lasted," the girl went on, staring at Alfred. "But he likes to play around, y'know? He goes out with lots of girls, but I guess he gets bored quick. Short attention span and all that. So you wanna come join me by the pool?"

"Uh, you'll have to excuse me," Arthur muttered, breaking away from her. "Bad headache, you know. I'd better go take a walk." And before the girl could say another word, he was off in the direction of the vineyards—the only place he could think of where he could be totally alone.

xxx

_Why does this bother me?_ he thought to himself, zigzagging his way across the fields of grapes. _It's not like—it's not like he's bloody cheating on me or something! I must be mental. He can date whomever he wants. It's none of my business. I have no right to be upset over any of it . . ._

And yet he _was _upset. It wasn't that he was mad at Alfred. He was actually mad at _himself_, for buying into the ridiculous assumption that he was special to Alfred. If this party proved anything, it was that Alfred had plenty of friends and plenty of girls to flirt with . . . but Arthur had no one. No one except Alfred, or so he had thought—but that was probably just an illusion too. It was absurd to think that Alfred considered him important. _"He likes to play around, y'know?"_

_And that's probably all he was doing with me, _Arthur thought, beginning to feel sick over the whole thing. _And I was fool enough to believe it was something more. It's obvious I don't belong in his world. Why would he choose someone like me when there are so many others to pick from . . .?_

Slowing to a halt at last, Arthur wasn't surprised to find himself lost. He hadn't even paid attention to where he was walking, but he knew he was fairly far away, since the music seemed so distant. But at least he could be alone out here. Eyeing a bench a little ways ahead, he opted to take a seat and rest for a while.

_This is what I get for opening up to someone,_ he thought bitterly. _I should have known better. I should have simply kept my distance. _He suddenly wished he had taken a bottle of wine with him. He wanted nothing more than to get drunk and pass out on the bench. But since there weren't any glasses of wine at his disposal, he decided to do the next best thing: sleep. Or at least try to. He felt quite exhausted, and he wanted to forget the world if he could. So he leaned over and sprawled himself across the bench, like some homeless vagabond. It wasn't the most comfortable place for a nap, but he was in no mood to be picky tonight.

xxx

It was difficult to tell what finally nudged Arthur awake, but it wasn't anything startling. That is, he didn't wake with a jolt like he had in the morning. Instead, his eyelids weakly fluttered open, and when his vision became focused, he realized it was still evening—though he had no idea what time of night—and he was staring out across the vineyards. But there was something strange. The bench didn't seem quite so stiff anymore . . .

"Hey, you awake?"

"Hmm?" Arthur turned his head to see . . . ALFRED?

"GAHHHHH!" Arthur exclaimed, this time springing into a sitting position. His head had been resting on Alfred's lap, and Alfred had even been stroking his hair. The realization of it made Arthur turn bright red. "How the—where the hell did _you _come from?"

"I couldn't find you in the backyard or the mansion, so I came looking for you," Alfred told him. "I thought maybe you'd gotten drunk and wandered off . . . then I found you here, and I still kinda thought you were drunk, since you didn't even wake up when I lifted your head. I wanted to blow that noisemaker thing in your ear, but you looked so peaceful and all . . ."

"I—I am _not _drunk!" Arthur stammered, looking away. "I was only tired."

"Yeah, I know. But you're awake now, right? Here, I brought you a big piece of cake, just like I promised." Reaching over, he picked up a plate of cake and held it out for Arthur. But Arthur didn't take it. "What's wrong? Don't you like chocolate?"

"Why did you come out here?" Arthur asked in a strained voice. "Why did you even bother?"

"Because I was worried," Alfred replied. "And I wanted to see you."

"Yeah? Well it seemed like you were having a perfectly good time at the party without me."

Alfred blinked at the accusatory tone in Arthur's voice.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Of course not," Arthur snapped. "I'm just surprised you decided to skip out on your girls to spend time with me."

"Ohhh, I get it," Alfred said, crossing his arms. "So you're jealous."

"I am _not_!"

"You suck at lying," Alfred laughed. "But you don't have to worry. I was only talking to them 'cause I was trying to be nice. You know, like a gentleman."

"You call 'playing around' being a gentleman?"

"Whoa, playing around?" Alfred repeated, scratching his head. "Okay, so maybe I did that a little back in high school . . . but not anymore. I got tired of it. I was never seriously interested in any of those girls, so you don't have to feel intimidated by them, Arthur."

"I'm not! I just . . ."

"You're special to me, Arthur," Alfred said, looking him squarely in the eye. "You know that, right?"

Swallowing hard, Arthur nodded. _I do now,_ he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"So how about that cake?" Alfred said, handing him the plate. "And I brought the present you gave me." Reaching over, he pulled the gift box out from underneath the bench. "I didn't want to open it without you around."

"Go ahead then," Arthur said, taking a bite of the cake.

"Okay!" And with one swift motion, Alfred ripped off the wrapping paper and tore off the box's lid. Lifting out the gift inside, his eyes grew wide as he hugged it close to his chest. It was a fluffy white rounded pillow made to look like him. Yes, it was a "mochi" pillow with bluish eyes and a cute expression, and it was as soft and light as could be. "You made this?"

Arthur nodded. "I sew a little . . ."

"It's so cute!" He squeezed it even tighter.

"I chose it because I know how much you love yourself, so I thought it would be perfect to make a pillow designed after you. And since you seem to have everything else, I decided I'd better make something original . . ."

"Oh, I wouldn't say I have _everything_," Alfred began, eyeing Arthur rather coyly. But before Arthur could respond, a sudden _boom _sounded in the distance. "Hey, the fireworks are starting!" Alfred exclaimed, gazing up at the illuminated sky.

A few golden fireworks shot high into the air, followed in quick succession by reds and blues. Some were massive while others were quite tiny, but all of them were bright and beautiful. However, even they weren't the highlight of the evening for Arthur. Soon after the show began, he felt Alfred's hand brush against his . . . and the next thing he knew, their hands were tightly interlocked. And they stayed that way for the rest of the show, even after the final golden glow had faded from the sky.

Afterward, it was Alfred who spoke first.

"You'd better get a good night's sleep," he told Arthur, grinning, "'cause I've got a surprise for you tomorrow!"

_More? _Arthur thought, turning even redder than before. "You know I don't much care for surprises . . . but in this case, I'll make an exception."

Then he smiled at Alfred and wished him "happy birthday" once more.

xxx

What could the surprise be, I wonder . . . ? You'll have to wait to find out . . .

A/N: I couldn't think of what present Arthur should get Alfred at first, but then I was like . . . Mochi pillow? Why not XD I love the America mochi—it's so darned cute!

Speaking of cute, I just recently got the new Hetalia art book and it is AMAZING! It also comes with a sticker sheet, poster, and a deck of playing cards with the characters on it. I did a little fangirl squee when I saw Alfred and Arthur were the King and Queen of spades! (It was meant to be!)They're so freakin' ADORABLE! So yeah, I'd highly recommend the art book, even though it'll cost you a crapload of money XD

I have a little amusing story to share as well. A couple weekends ago, I went to the Dogwood festival (this kind of springtime festival held every year in Atlanta), and as I walking around, I noticed that like a TON of people were carrying around Canadian flags! I was like "Whoa, what's up with that? Is there something I'm missing here?" Later on, I came to realize that the people at a certain table were giving away Canadian flags for free! They must have had like a bajillion of them, since so many people were carrying them around XD I decided "I MUST have one!" So yeah, I got a free Canadian flag and proceeded to wave it around the whole time. I love you, Mattie :D This is how you get noticed: give out free stuff!

And, on a final note, I'm afraid the next chapter may be delayed a bit because *drum roll* . . . I'm going to be in Italy for the next three weeks! PASTAAAAAAA~~~~~! Yep, it's a study abroad trip, and since I'm leaving in two days, I made sure to get this chapter up before I go! I'm SOOO excited I can't even contain myself. Somebody seriously needs to shoot me with a tranquilizer. I just know I'll be relating everything I see to Hetalia the whole time. Vee~!

So yeah, I won't be writing the new chapter till after I get back, but I'll still try not to make you guys wait TOO long!

Preview: Alfred surprises Arthur with . . . well, I can't really tell you, as that would ruin the surprise. Let's just say they go on a little field trip . . . use your imaginations!

Thanks for reading! And remember, please REVIEW! :D


	12. Ch 12: Surprise!

Yes, I'm back! My trip to Italy was freakin' AMAZING! It was soooo beautiful. I had the time of my life! :D The CRAZIEST time of my life, but still . . . I even managed to find an anime store over there while I was wandering around! XD Anyway, now it's back to reality *sobs* Oh well, at least there's a new chapter . . .

First off, thanks to all the reviewers!: **vodka's sister, Ace Jeremy, Trumpet-Geek, Polenta (Katie/British Chocolate), Empress Vegah, ****xxalexisurgodxx****, Yuu-chi, Mawlsie, ****MeLaNch0LYdreams****, ****Deidara'sgirl19**** , anon (****AGH ENTERED PREV BY ACCIDENT **lol**), ci, IchigoMelon, **and **mininity **

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Chapter 12: Surprise!

"Oh for the love of God, will you just tell me where the hell we're going?" Arthur grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently against the dashboard of Alfred's car. They were speeding along down the highway, although Arthur had no idea where they were headed.

"Of course I can't tell you!" Alfred replied. "That would ruin the surprise!" He let out one of those annoying laughs that made Arthur want to open the car door and dive out toward the side of the road.

"You just revel in tormenting me, don't you?" Arthur mumbled.

"Only because you make it so much fun."

"Hmph." Arthur looked away and continued to sulk in silence. Although Alfred had warned him that there would be a "surprise" in store for him today, Arthur hadn't thought it would involve travelling anywhere. All he wanted to do was rest, especially after that exhausting birthday party the day before. But, much to his chagrin, Alfred had other plans. He had awoken Arthur at 9:00 sharp and demanded he prepare for a little roadtrip. Of course, he didn't provide any details on the trip, no matter how many times Arthur badgered him. And when Arthur tried to argue that he was too tired to go, Alfred accused him of acting like an old, worn out man. Thus, as usual, Arthur found himself playing the accomplice on yet another of Alfred's escapades.

"You know, I already suffered through that entire bloody celebration of yours," Arthur began, "so I don't see why you couldn't let me alone for at least a day."

"Suffered through it? You seemed to enjoy the fireworks, at least," Alfred said, slyly eyeing Arthur, who had turned slightly pink at the memory of the two holding hands the night before.

"Yes, well, that was an exception," Arthur told him. "The rest of it was a colossal waste of time."

"Look, I get that you're not really the partying type. But that's the whole point of this surprise! Since you came to the party, even though you weren't that excited about it, I wanted to repay the favor. We're going someplace I think you'll like . . . at least I hope you'll like it." Alfred winked at him, and Arthur had to admit his curiosity had been piqued.

_Someplace I'd like . . . ? _Arthur racked his brain but couldn't come up with any ideas as to where it might be. Whatever it was, it had to be a fair distance away—they had been driving for over two hours already. What could be worth journeying such a distance?

"We're almost there," Alfred announced. "Close your eyes!"

Arthur wasn't too eager to do so, but he appeased Alfred by closing them, and then he waited. He could make out sounds in the distance, and the air almost tasted salty . . .

_The beach_, he thought miserably. It wasn't his favorite place. Not that he didn't appreciate the beauty of white sand and waves, but the intense heat and the busy crowds always managed to ruin it for him. He would much rather have visited the beach at night, when all the people had cleared away. It would be so much more peaceful and quiet then. He could picture Alfred and himself walking along the shoreline at night, watching the waves bob in and out . . .

"Okay, we're here!" Alfred yelled as the car skidded to a halt. Arthur opened his eyes, fairly sure of what he was about to see. But of course, he had forgotten to take into account that this was _Alfred's_ surprise, and as such, it was certain to be far grander than he imagined.

_I should have bloody well known_, Arthur thought, once he had opened his eyes. Yes, there was a beach in front of him, but that wasn't all. Lining the beach was an entire freakin' amusement park, complete with roller coasters, carnival games, and an arcade. As soon as Arthur had gotten over the momentary shock of it all, he glanced back to find Alfred grinning like it was his birthday all over again. Arthur had the sudden urge to shove him out of the car, lunge for the wheel, and hightail it back to the mansion. At least that place had a trace of sanity to it, whilst this one looked like it had next to none.

"_This _is your idea of a pleasant surprise?" Arthur exclaimed, gesturing toward the park like it was some kind of a hellish deathtrap. "How could you assume I'd like a place like _this_? Are you barking mad?"

"Woah, calm down!" Alfred said. "This is only the _first_ part of the surprise! And it's not the part I expected you to like anyway . . . but come on, we're here now, so why don't we have some fun with it? Just a few rides, a couple of games, and then I'll show you the second part of the surprise . . . deal?"

"No," Arthur told him, crossing his arms. "I have absolutely no intention of riding any one of those ridiculous contraptions." He gestured to the roller coasters with his hand. "Or of playing those foolhardy parlor games. Or stuffing myself with any more atrocious hamburgers. I demand that you turn this car around right now and—"

"I'm not your chauffer," Alfred interrupted, swinging open Arthur's car door. "And I'm not taking you back—which means you're stranded here for the moment. So just give it up and come on!" Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him out of the car, dragging him along as he headed for the amusement park.

"No you don't, you bloody fool!" Arthur yelled, fighting to break away from Alfred's grip. "You can't take me against my will!"

"Oh, can't I?" Alfred replied, a devilish gleam shining in his eye. Arthur didn't like the look of that one bit.

"What's that look for? You'd better not try anything—" But before he could finish, Alfred had wheeled around and lifted him off the ground as easily as a twig, swinging him over his shoulder.

"Let me go, you wanker! I swear, if you don't put me down, I'll—"

"Come on, Arthur," Alfred began, laughing, "it's just an amusement park, not the gallows."

"Same bloody thing, if you ask me."

"Look, I'll carry you the whole way if I have to. Is that what you want?"

Arthur cursed under his breath. He wasn't about to let himself get humiliated like this, so it didn't look like he had much of a choice. Grudgingly, he agreed to Alfred's demands, and Alfred lowered him to the ground.

"I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking," Alfred remarked, far too smugly for Arthur's liking. "Now follow me!"

_Arrogant bastard_, Arthur thought, mentally plotting his revenge. It just wasn't fair. Why did he have to be so bloody attracted to an idiot?

xxx

It turned out that the seaside amusement park was called the "Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk," also known by its nickname, Surf City. It was quite a large park, sporting a good variety of thrill rides, carnival games, snack foods, and gift shops. Alfred boasted that it had been around for over a hundred years, to which Arthur countered that a hundred years was peanuts when compared with most things back in England. In fact, he burst out laughing when Alfred informed him that one of the roller coasters had been deemed a national historic landmark. Alfred didn't find it so funny, but Arthur still couldn't believe such a title had been bestowed upon a thrill ride of all things.

"We'll see who's laughing when you go for a ride on it," Alfred muttered.

"It's not bad enough you kidnapped me and dragged me here, now you insist I go for a ride on one of those blasted things too?" Arthur grumbled.

"It wouldn't be any fun if you didn't go!"

"Fine," Arthur sighed. "I'll go if you promise to stop nagging me. Besides, the only reason you're asking me to tag along is because you're too frightened to go alone."

"That's crazy!" Alfred insisted, defiantly turning away. "I never get scared."

"Right, just like how you weren't frightened during that blob film," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes.

Alfred pretended not to hear him. "But first, I want a snack," he said, scanning the horizon for the nearest concession stand.

"A snack?" Arthur repeated. "Are you sure that's the best idea before a ride? Because I swear, if you puke all over me, I'm going to—"

But Alfred had already spotted a snack cart in the distance, and he spared no time in making a bee-line for it.

_It's going to be another one of those long days, isn't it? _Arthur thought. He could only hope Alfred's 'surprise part two' would make up for the torment of part one.

xxx

The first ride Arthur tagged along to was, naturally, the landmark roller coaster known as the "Giant Dipper." Alfred had to start out big, after all. The coaster was a gigantic red and white structure, probably the most well-known attraction at the park. Alfred couldn't stop fidgeting the entire time they were standing in line, like a hyperactive four-year-old going on his first grown-up ride. And when their turn rolled around at last, Alfred leaned over and whispered in Arthur's ear, "If you get scared, you can always hold onto me, okay?"

"We'll see about that," Arthur mumbled, blushing. He had a theory about how this ride was going to go, and as soon as the cart started plunging down the first hill, he found his theory to be correct. _He _wasn't the one who needed to hold onto something. Sure, he didn't love roller coasters, but he wasn't exactly frightened of them either. He found the twists and turns to be rather unpleasant to his stomach, but other than that, it wasn't so unbearable. Of course, _this _particular ride turned out to be a different animal altogether, because as soon as the ride started speeding up, Alfred grabbed him and began squeezing for dear life. Apparently, that was how Alfred preferred to enjoy the ride: by clutching onto the nearest person like a human-sized leech. Arthur soon found that he could scarcely breathe for all the squeezing, even though he didn't really mind having Alfred's arms around him. But damn it, he felt like he was suffocating! He thought he would surely pass out before the ride's conclusion, so it was a great shock to him when the cart finally slowed and he discovered he was still conscious.

As soon as the ride was over, Alfred hopped up and yelled "That was awesome! Wasn't that a great ride, Arthur?" as though he hadn't just squeezed half the life out of the Englishman. Arthur would have loved to reply with a scathing remark, but his lungs were still recovering from the trauma. "I know, it kinda leaves you breathless, right?" Alfred went on, clapping Arthur on the back.

"Yes," he choked out. "Breathless." That was the word. It seemed to perfectly sum up every encounter he'd ever had with Alfred. Sometimes it was a good breathless, and sometimes it was a painful breathless. _And sometimes both_, he thought, watching as Alfred cheerfully skipped toward the next ride. But either way, there was never a dull moment. Because hanging out with Alfred F. Jones was like riding a roller coaster 24/7, and even Arthur had to admit it was nothing short of a thrill.

xxx

Thankfully, the rest of the park's roller coasters weren't as hardcore as the first one, so Arthur could—literally—breathe a sigh of relief. And when Alfred suggested they go back and ride the Giant Dipper yet again, Arthur glared at him so fiercely that he didn't even try to press the matter. So Alfred decided to move onto carnival games instead. He actually proved to be quite good at them, especially the ones that involved shooting targets or smashing bottles: Alfred was very good at destroying things. Arthur found it all to be rather amusing, even though the prizes were mostly of dollar-store quality. He didn't need the cheap stuffed animals, so he gave them away to the kids standing around watching Alfred play. The only prize Arthur decided to keep (at Alfred's insistence) was a miniature shark plushie wearing a red hoodie with the Beach Boardwalk emblem on it. Arthur had to admit that for a shark, it was quite cute. And since it had been won for him by Alfred . . . well, he decided he might as well keep it. At least his unicorn would have a companion now.

Finally, after the two had hit just about every carnival game in the vicinity, Alfred decided it was time for another snack. Of course, to Alfred, a "snack" was roughly equivalent to a three-course meal for a normal human, so it ended up being more like a lunch break. While Alfred consumed an entire batch of hot dogs, pizzas, and ice cream sundaes, Arthur sufficed with a sandwich. Alfred kept begging him to get at least one dessert item, so he finally settled for a Funnel Cake, which he later declared to be one of the greasiest and most fatty foods he had ever ingested . . . not to mention one of the tastiest, but he kept that opinion to himself.

After the meal, Alfred led Arthur to the "Haunted Castle" ride, meant to be the spookiest attraction at the park. But Arthur remained unimpressed, reminding Alfred that if he wanted to see a _real _haunted castle, he should come to England. And when the two went for a round on the Ferris wheel, Arthur remarked that the ride was all right, but not nearly as impressive as the London Eye. He could tell his remarks were beginning to annoy Alfred, so they were producing the desired effect. Revenge was sweet, no matter how small the victory.

The final ride Alfred insisted upon was the Looff Carousel, which was celebrating its one-hundredth year anniversary. Alfred said it wasn't one of the rides he often frequented, but he thought Arthur would probably like it. Arthur wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult.

"I don't know," Arthur began, eyeing the musical merry-go-round, "I think I'd feel a bit ridiculous riding such a thing at my age . . ."

"Who cares about that?" Alfred said. "You worry too much what other people think."

"And you worry too little."

"It's just one ride! It won't kill you."

Arthur sighed. He really did like carousels, and he had to admit that the design of this one was quite charming . . .

"Well," he conceded, "I suppose one ride couldn't hurt. At least it'll be more peaceful than those bloody roller coasters."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Alfred exclaimed, tugging Arthur toward the line. It was reasonably long, but the ride was worth the wait. It _did _prove to be much more peaceful than the coasters, and Arthur appreciated it more than any of the thrill rides there. In fact, by the end of it, he found himself in rather high spirits, so he was even more overjoyed to hear that Alfred had deemed part one of his surprise finished—and it was now time for part two to begin.

"I probably shouldn't waste my breath asking, but what exactly does part two involve, pray tell?"

In response, Alfred merely winked at him.

"You'll see. First we have to prepare. And that means a trip to the Surf Shop."

"The what?"

"I told you, you'll see!" Alfred repeated. "Just trust me." He held out his hand—and Arthur took it.

"I'm a fool," Arthur sighed, "but I trust you."

"Don't worry," Alfred began, shooting him a thumbs-up. "I won't disappoint."

xxx

Author's Notes: This chapter was a bit short, but the next one will be longer. It's also gonna be a REALLY important one, so stay tuned!

I researched the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk before I wrote this, so I hope it's at least somewhat accurate heh heh . . . Also, the shark plushie was something I saw on their website—it was the cutest thing EVER! I seriously wanted one so badly . . . but it's not on their site anymore. *cries*Where oh where have you gone, little sharkie . . . ?

Oh, and since several of you were asking about the art book, I'll tell you I bought mine at Kinokuniya Bookstore online. But I warn you, it will cost a pretty penny . . . I'm ashamed to admit I spent $68 on it XD (It was worth it in my opinion, but the price still made me cry). It's also available at animebooks dot com for $73. You can only buy from Kinokuniya if you're a resident of the US or Canada, but it's free shipping over $100 within the continental US. Animebooks also offers free shipping over $100 for US orders. If you look up the book on Kinokuniya, be sure to type in "Axis Powers" in the search engine or it won't come up. Either site is good; I've bought stuff from both of them in the past. And they're both cheaper than any prices I've seen on ebay.

The art book is called "Hetalia Axis Powers Arte Stella" and it comes with the deck of cards, a cute sticker sheet, and an AWESOME poster. You can probably find scans of the art online if you want a preview. The cards are super cute, and America is the king of spades and England is the queen of spades! A match made in heaven :D

Next chapter: Beach! Yes, beach, beach, beach! Part two of the surprise is much more to Arthur's liking . . . or is it? (Vague, I know, but just wait and see!)

Until next time :) Don't forget to review please!


	13. Ch 13: Surprise, Part II

I'm baaaaaack! Yes, finally, the new chapter is here! I'm REALLY sorry about the long delay, but I've been focusing on summer work, so it took a bit longer than I'd anticipated . . . but, to make up for it, I've made this chapter the LONGEST one yet! (And also probably the most important one—you'll see what I mean!)

First off, a big thanks to all who reviewed: **IchigoMelon, Teenage Mouse, Yuu-chi, ****melancholyfreamstoolazytologi, ****Deidara'sgirl19****, ****MimmiTheOtaku****,****mininity****, ****xxalexisurgodxx****, ****HetaliaBitchezz, tamiki-kun, SCBunnyGo, ****Empress Vegah****, **and** Alphine! **

At **Teenage Mouse: **Aw, thanks so much for the kind words! Although I can't guarantee an evil Russian won't show up sometime in the future . . .

At **Deidara'sgirl19**: Yep, it's a real place. After writing about it, I wanna go there too!

At **tamiki-kun: **Now I'm jealous you've been there! lol It sounds really cool :)

At **Empress Vegah****: **Yeah, I'm trying to follow the official ages, which I believe would make Arhtur 23 and Alfred would now be 20 (since it was just his birthday!)

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Now, without further ado (you've waited long enough already) . . .

Ch 13: Surprise, Part II

"We're going to the beach, aren't we?" Arthur asked, sounding none too thrilled. He and Alfred were passing by the place right now, and it looked plenty crowded.

"No, we're going to the Surf Shop!" Alfred replied, ignoring the dismay in Arthur's voice.

"But we're going there to buy things for the beach, correct?"

"I can't tell you. That'd ruin the surprise."

"It's not a surprise if I can guess exactly what it is you're planning!" Arthur argued. "There's no reason you'd take me to a Surf Shop unless we're going to the bloody beach!"

"Okay, okay, you're right, we're going to the beach!" Alfred admitted. "Geez, you're such a spoilsport, Arthur."

"Excuse me? All I was doing was pointing out the obvious! Maybe if you'd come up with a cleverer surprise, I wouldn't have had to—" But he was interrupted by one of Alfred's obnoxious bouts of laughter. "What's so funny?"

"My surprise—because it _is _clever," Alfred assured him, winking. "You just haven't guessed everythingabout it yet. But you'll see what I mean."

"Hmph, I suppose I will, "Arthur mumbled. "If we ever get there, that is."

"Ah, here it is!" Alfred announced as they neared the Surf Shop. "I bet you can't wait to have a look inside!"

Arthur didn't reply, as he was too busy scrutinizing the shop looming in front of them. In his head, he was passing pretty stern judgment on it, but he didn't dare open his mouth. Still, he wasn't feeling too good about this shop. Any place with Alfred's stamp of approval made him automatically nervous. And the shop's appearance didn't exactly help; it was essentially a slightly crooked three-story house with seagulls perching all over it, nesting atop the windowsills and roof. The words "Surf Shop" had been painted in messy letters above the door, except for the letter "O," which had been replaced with a life preserver. But at least the shop's color was pleasant enough: it was a bright robin-egg blue. That supplied Arthur with a _tiny_ smidgen of hope, if nothing else.

"Ready to go in?" Alfred asked, sounding as energetic as ever.

"How about I just wait out here in the shade—?"

"Great, let's go!" Alfred interrupted, completely oblivious to Arthur's misgivings. Consequently, Arthur soon found himself being yanked up the steps to the front door. Even there, he could make out the loud music pumping from inside. The racket certainly wasn't helping his enthusiasm any. But before he had a chance to protest any further, Alfred had forced him through the door.

As soon as Arthur passed the shop's threshold, he began to seriously wonder if he hadn't somehow stepped into one of Alfred's fantastical dreams. The design of the shop was bright and loud—really in-your-face—just like Alfred. The walls featured all sorts of colors and patterns painted at odd angles to one another, almost like a funhouse. A spiraling staircase in the corner led to the upper floors, which weren't part of the shop. Below, the wooden floor was a bit messy, with sand and wet footprints tracked all over it. And above, the ceiling sported a dozen fans with flashy kites attached to them; the spinning with enough to make a person dizzy if they watched it for too long.

As for the shop's actual merchandise . . . well, the items had been squished and squeezed into every possible space in the room, and piled almost to the ceiling if necessary. Every knowable beach accessory in existence seemed to be present—surf boards, inflatable rafts, beach chairs, swimsuits, souvenirs, sand toys, towels, sunglasses . . . everything. There were even giant shark plushies hanging from the ceiling and some of those annoying singing fish plaques mounted on the walls.

"How long are we intending to spend in here, would you say?" Arthur asked, the music already bringing on a headache. But Alfred didn't hear him as he walked over to greet the shop's owner, a man behind the counter who Arthur thought fit the definition of a hippie pretty well. His white hair was totally overgrown, but he still dressed like a teenager.

"Hey, Arthur, come and meet the shop's owner," Alfred said, pulling Arthur over to the counter.

"Pleased to meet you," Arthur muttered, just wanting to get out of there.

"Name's Griff," the man said, fingers forming a peace sign. "So, Alfred, I got some news for you, man. See, I'm retiring. I'm sellin' this place."

"What? But you can't close it down!" Alfred exclaimed, throwing his hands on the counter.

"That's up to the buyer now. And I was hopin' that might be you, seein' how much you love the place, y'know?"

"Well . . ." Alfred trailed off, looking sorely disappointed. Arthur watched his expression closely.

"You have 'nuff money, right?" Griff went on.

"Yeah, but I can't," Alfred sighed. "It'd be awesome, but you know how I have to take over the family business and all . . ."

Griff nodded. "Cryin' shame, man."

Arthur kept his eyes trained on Alfred, who wasn't too masterful at hiding his emotions. He was clearly torn about the situation; Arthur could tell he really did love the shop and would probably have done well as its owner. But there was always that expectation placed on him by his parents. It made Arthur want to scream "To hell with what _they_ think!" but he knew it was easier said than done. The whole thing was just so infuriating. Alfred was the kind of person who needed to be free to do as he pleased, or he'd never be happy. And Arthur just wanted to see him happy, always . . .

"Alright, you ready to look around?" Alfred asked. For Arthur's sake, he had sprung back into his old demeanor quickly.

Nodding, Arthur asked, "What is it we're looking for?"

"Hmm . . . well, first we need some beach clothes."

Arthur wasn't too excited about that; beach clothes weren't exactly his style. Trying to hide his displeasure, he replied, "Are you sure that's entirely necessary?"

"Of course it is! How can you go swimming in normal clothes?"

"Well, I'm not that fond of swimming, really, but . . ." Looking back at Alfred, Arthur realized he just didn't have the heart to deny him. "I suppose, since you're paying for it, after all . . ."

That was all the encouragement Alfred needed. Heading straight for the swimwear section, he began searching for a pair of swimming trunks. It didn't really take him much time to find what he wanted.

"Look, I'm gonna get these!" Alfred said, holding up a pair featuring (naturally) an American flag design.

"Seems fitting," Arthur said.

"I wish they had one with a British flag. Then we'd match," Alfred said, glancing around at the selection. "Oh well. Do any of 'em catch your eye?"

"I'm not really that particular about it," Arthur replied. In other words, he hated pretty much all of them.

"You have to pick something."

"Well, if it will get you to stop badgering me . . ." Arthur eventually settled on a red plaid pair, hoping that would satisfy Alfred, but oh no, Alfred had much more in store for him.

"You should get some flip-flops, too," he suggested, holding up a pair. Arthur frowned.

"I don't usually wear—"

"But it's the beach!"

"I know it's the bloody beach, but I still don't—"

"THE BEACH!"

"FINE! For God's sake, I'll take them!" Arthur yelled, realizing a pair of flip-flops weren't worth arguing over. Alfred picked out a couple pairs for the two of them, looking quite pleased with himself. He also grabbed a few beach totes to carry the items in, giving one to Arthur and keeping the rest for himself.

"We need some more gear," Alfred went on, perusing the merchandise all the while. "Got any suggestions?"

"Just get whatever you want," Arthur said, knowing there was no sense in voicing his opinion—Alfred would get whatever Alfred wanted anyway.

"Okay, if you insist," Alfred chimed. Without wasting a beat, he took to flitting about the store and tossing items into his tote bag like he was preparing for an apocalypse. He picked up beach balls, frisbees, sand pails, suntan lotion, and just about anything else he thought they might need, including a cooler and an unhealthy number of soft drinks to go with it. But it wasn't as if he left Arthur in peace during this whole process either. He sought Arthur's opinion on whatever he could, whether it be which color beach ball to get or which towel looked the coolest. He even tried to convince Arthur to get a few things for himself. One of his suggestions was a hat, which he illustrated by plopping a pirate's hat down on Arthur's head.

"It's perfect for you!" Alfred declared, dragging Arthur to a mirror.

"Very funny," Arthur replied, though he had to agree it didn't look half bad. At least it might come in handy for Halloween.

"Can you think of anything else we might need?" Alfred asked.

"I think you have it covered," Arthur replied, glancing over at the gigantic mound of items Alfred had managed to stockpile.

"Yeah, I think that's pretty much everything," Alfred agreed. "While you're deciding on that hat, I'm gonna go change." As he headed off toward the changing rooms in the back of the shop, Arthur stayed and tried to calm his nerves for what he knew was inevitably coming.

_Just stay focused, _he counseled himself. _Don't get distracted when—_

"I'm back!" Alfred announced a few minutes later. "Decided on the hat yet?"

Of course, the hat was the last thing on Arthur's mind at the moment. He was far too preoccupied with Alfred's appearance, namely the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Arthur had suspected it, since Alfred hadn't bought any t-shirts to go along with his swimming trunks, but he had tried to brace himself for it . . . and failed. Alfred looked about as good as any swimsuit model from a magazine.

_He eats like a bloody pig, so how the hell does he keep up that physique? _Arthur wondered, admiring Alfred's muscular arms and well-toned abs. It wasn't fair! He had a perfect six-pack, and Arthur hadn't even heard him mention going to a gym! _Then again, the estate probably has a bloody training gym on the property—they have everything else, after all. _

"Something wrong?" Alfred asked, snapping Arthur back to reality.

"Of course not," Arthur replied, turning back towards the mirror. He could still see Alfred's reflection in it, though, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. The man just had a casual handsomeness to him, like he never had to try to look good—he was just naturally that way. And, most infuriating of all, Alfred clearly _knew_ it, if his smug expression proved anything. Of course, he had a right to be confident, considering he really _did _look good, but damn it, did he have to smile like he owned the world?

"Why don't you go and change now, Arthur?" Alfred suggested, adjusting the snazzy pair of sunglasses he'd switched to. "I'll go pay for this stuff."

"W-wait," Arthur began, wheeling back around. "Why don't we get some shirts?"

"It's the beach. Who needs a shirt?"

_This is no good_, Arthur thought, turning away to hide his burning face. _I won't even be able to look at him._

"But I would really like a t-shirt," Arthur began, trying not to sound like he was improvising. "To . . . get me in the beach spirit, you know?"

"And here I was thinking you didn't like the beach!" Alfred replied, laughing. "Trying to fool me, huh? You really do like it, right?"

"Looks like you found me out," Arthur said, chuckling nervously. "Hey, I think this shirt over here matches you perfectly." Reaching over, Arthur pulled a random shirt off the rack and tossed it to Alfred.

"If you really think so," Alfred said, accepting the shirt. It was light blue with a whale design on it. "It's pretty cool. Hey, I think this shirt over here fits you!" He pulled out an orange shirt with a sour-looking crab and the word "Crabby" printed across it. "See, just like you!"

"What? That's nothing like me, you idiot!" Arthur yelled, unaware that his reaction fit the shirt's description perfectly. But regardless, he accepted the t-shirt, just thankful that Alfred had put something on to cover up his chest. Afterward, Arthur proceeded to change into his beach attire while Alfred paid for the merchandise. In the changing room mirror, Arthur thought he looked a little out-of-place—he wasn't used to wearing these kinds of clothes, and he was way too pale for the beach—but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He was a bit embarrassed when he stepped out to show Alfred, but he was pleasantly surprised by Alfred's reaction.

"Hey, you look great!" Alfred assured him, shooting him a thumbs-up.

"I don't know," Arthur mumbled, although he found the compliment very encouraging. "You don't look too bad either, I suppose, especially since I picked out that shirt and all—"

"Haha! Of course I look good! I always look awesome! Though I'd look even better with my shirt off," Alfred said, winking. "And I bet you would too."

Going red again, Arthur looked down, cursing himself for blushing so easily.

"So are we going to the bloody beach or not?" he grumbled. "We're wasting time."

"Yeah, you're right. I already paid for the stuff, so just one last thing—we need ice cream!"

"Again? You've eaten so much food you're going to inflate like one of those beach balls!"

"No way!" Alfred exclaimed, waving his arms. "I'm too awesome to get fat! Besides, the ice cream's _free_. How can I turn down free ice cream? That's like a crime punishable by death!"

_I shouldn't be surprised_, Arthur thought, clapping a hand to his forehead. "And where exactly are we going to find this magical, free ice cream?"

"Right there, of course!" Alfred answered, pointing behind Arthur at an ice-cream machine hidden in the corner of the shop.

"What? Where the hell did _that_ come from?"

"It's always been there," Alfred told him, matter-of-factly. "That's part of the reason I love this shop so much—free ice cream for all the customers!"

"What else?" Arthur mumbled, thinking he'd seen just about everything now. Stepping closer, he noticed there was more than just ice cream here—there were free toppings too, like chocolate syrup, whipped cream, sprinkles, and even cherries. "How can Griff afford to offer all this for free?" Arthur asked, baffled by the selection. "It must cost quite a bit."

"I dunno," Alfred said, grabbing a cone. "But it might help that I drop a few hundred bucks into the tip jar every time I come here . . ."

Arthur's jaw dropped open. "You idiot! It's hardly _free_ if you're the one who's sponsoring it!"

"But this is my prize for being charitable!" Alfred argued, crossing his arms.

Arthur sighed. He had to admire Alfred's willingness to fork out hundreds of dollars just for the convenience of having an ice cream machine at his favorite store.

"So, you want some, don't you?" Alfred asked, holding out a cone.

"I suppose, since it's 'free,' after all."

"What flavor?" Alfred asked. "Vanilla, chocolate, or swirly?"

"Swirly?"

"Swirly's a little bit of both, see?" Alfred pulled a lever, prompting a creamy mix of half-vanilla, half-chocolate ice cream to ooze out.

Arthur considered it. "Hmm, I don't know. Maybe just vanilla . . ."

"I know, it's tough, isn't it? I really love chocolate, but . . . wait!"

"What?" Arthur asked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He watched closely as Alfred filled his cone with swirly ice cream.

"Look," Alfred said, holding it up. "Remind you of anything?"

"Er—what?"

"It's like us!" Alfred declared, pointing to the ice cream. "We're like chocolate and vanilla, and together we're swirly!" He said it like he'd made a big philosophical connection about the world. He looked so proud of himself that Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

"Only you could compare the both of us to ice cream," Arthur told him. "But if you're that adamant about it, then I suppose I'll take swirly after all."

"You have to admit, it _is _a perfect combination," Alfred added, grinning.

_Perhaps it is, _Arthur thought, smiling to himself. The two flavors certainly _did_ taste better together than either did alone.

xxx

Unsurprisingly, Alfred finished his ice cream in record time, while Arthur hadn't even gotten halfway through his. But that didn't stop Alfred from kicking off the real "part two" of his surprise.

"Come on, this way!" Alfred began, heading for the back of the store.

"But isn't the beach that way?" Arthur asked, pointing in the opposite direction. "Where are you going?"

"Follow me and find out!" Alfred replied, pulling Arthur along behind him. Together, they exited through the shop's back door, stepping out onto a sandy back-lot. But Alfred ignored this area, leading Arthur on a winding route down a hill to the left of the shop. As Arthur scrambled to finish his ice cream before it melted, he couldn't help but notice the changing landscape; it was becoming much rockier the farther downhill they went. Jagged stones jutted out of the sand all around them, blocking the boardwalk and crowded beach entirely from view. Arthur noticed the sound of waves growing louder and louder until Alfred finally stopped and spread his arms wide.

"Here we are!" he announced, gesturing to the space in front of them.

"A private beach, is it?" Arthur asked, smiling despite himself. It was certainly a better surprise than the amusement park had been. Rocks surrounded them on all sides, as though it was their own personal sea cove. A reasonable length of beach stretched out in front of them; it wasn't as grand as the main beach, but there weren't any annoying tourists to deal with either. This beach was peaceful, quiet, and calm—just the way Arthur liked it.

"So, what d'you think?" Alfred asked. For once, he sounded a little bit unsure, probably due to Arthur's silence. "I wanted to bring you to the beach—I mean, it's California—we _had_ to visit the beach sometime! But since you're not a fan of big crowds, I thought you might like this place better . . . I mean, you _do _like it, right?"

"I . . ." Arthur couldn't speak for a moment. _He actually considered my feelings, _he thought, gazing out across the beach. _So he _is _capable of thinking about someone else besides himself. _Arthur glanced over at Alfred, surprised to find a worried look etched across his face. _Is he really that frightened I won't like it? _The thought made Arthur's cheeks flash red. He had planned to downplay his reaction and make it seem like he wasn't that impressed, but he just couldn't do it. Not with that expression on Alfred's face. _Damn_, _I'm going soft_, he thought, sighing.

"I . . . I like it very much," Arthur began, stuttering a little. "You were right about the surprise—I couldn't have guessed it if I'd tried. So thank you . . . for bringing me here." He looked up and watched a brilliant grin spread across Alfred's face. There was nothing quite like seeing that. And when Arthur thought about the fact that _he _was the one who had made Alfred light up like that, it filled him with a warmth like none he'd ever known.

"I knew you'd like it!" Alfred exclaimed, like there had never been any doubt. "Only _I_ could come up with such a great idea! So, wanna go surfing?"

"Uh, well, I don't really know how . . ."

"We could go swimming instead."

"Uh, well, it's not my favorite thing . . ."

"Then did you have something else in mind?" Alfred asked, shooting Arthur a sly glance. "I mean, we can get away with whatever we want, y'know, since it's just the two of us . . ."

"W-what exactly are you implying—?"

"I'm just saying, it's your surprise, so you should get to pick first," Alfred replied, ignoring the question. "Whatever you wanna do is fine with me."

"Well, I . . . hmm," Arthur mumbled, a little nervous about where the conversation was heading. _Calm down, just calm down, _he told his beating heart. "How about we . . ."

"Yes?" Alfred asked, leaning a little closer.

". . . build a sand castle?" Arthur finished, chuckling nervously.

"A sand castle?" Alfred repeated, deflating a little. But he recovered quickly, returning to his old hyperactive self in no time flat. "If that's really what you wanna do, then let's go for it," he said, tossing Arthur some sand shovels and pails. "But next time, _I _get to choose the activity."

xxx

Although Alfred didn't complain about helping with the sand castle, Arthur figured it probably wasn't his first choice when it came to playing at the beach. And he felt it rather a shame that all the items they bought were going to waste . . . so he took periodic breaks to do whatever Alfred wanted. For instance, Alfred suggested playing Frisbee, which turned out to be much more dangerous than it sounded. Arthur couldn't really get the hang of throwing the Frisbee straight, but when Alfred threw it, it was like a missile zooming at the speed of light. Arthur was too busy ducking from it to bother trying to catch it. Eventually, it ricocheted off a rock and went hurling out of sight, probably destined to knock some poor tourist in the head on the other side. And that was the end of that game.

And thus, the two returned to building the sand castle (a much safer option), which was coming along quite nicely. Arthur was much better at this than Frisbee, and since Alfred had purchased just about every sand toy known to man, the construction wasn't too difficult either. Alfred switched the radio on as they worked, all the while gulping down soft drinks at regular intervals. Of course, Arthur couldn't really blame him, since the heat _was_ fairly intense.

"Man, it's hot out here!" Alfred exclaimed, tugging off his shirt. "But at least we have Coke!" As Alfred chugged down the drink, Arthur attempted to keep his eyes from lingering to Alfred's chest . . . but it was a largely unsuccessful endeavor. He didn't mean to stare, but he just couldn't steal his eyes away. Besides, Alfred was too busy drinking cola to notice—

"Ah! That was good!" Alfred pronounced, tossing the can away. "Hey, what're you staring at, Arthur?"

"N-nothing," Arthur lied, yanking his eyes away. "I was just—er—thinking about how you ought to be wearing sunblock."

"Well, you didn't put on any either," Alfred replied, pursing his lips. "And you're paler than me."

"Well, I _was_ just about to put some on, as a matter of fact," Arthur growled, reaching for the lotion. "And I'm not _that _pale."

"Maybe if you compare yourself to an albino," Alfred laughed, earning him a whack in the head with a sand shovel. Not eager for any more beatings, Alfred quickly added, "But I didn't mean it in a bad way! I don't care if you're pale—I like you just the way you are, Arthur."

Arthur lowered the sand shovel as he let the words sink in. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had said such a thing to him. He was stricken with a sudden urge to say something similar in return, but he was too embarrassed to do so.

"You're only saying that to keep me from attacking you," he mumbled.

"But I mean it!" Alfred told him. "I wouldn't change anything about you—even your bushy caterpillar eyebrows!"

"Caterpillar eyebrows?" Arthur growled, raising his shovel in the most menacing way possible. "Care to take that back?"

"Hey, hey, I only meant it in a good way!" Alfred assured him, flailing his arms. "But weren't you about to put on some sunblock? You don't wanna get burned, right?" He tossed Arthur the sunblock, praying the change of subject would save him from the Englishman's wrath. After considering it, Arthur finally turned off his death stare, rubbing some suntan lotion across his arms. Once he was finished, he tossed the lotion to Alfred and continued work on the sand castle.

_That wanker, _Arthur thought, filling up his sand pail. _Why do I let him rile me up like that? _

"Hey Arthur—"

"What now?"

"Will you help me put some of this on my back?" Alfred asked, holding up the sunblock. "I can't reach it that well."

_Please tell me this isn't happening_, Arthur thought, hoping he might have imagined the request. It was bad enough Alfred wasn't wearing a shirt, but now Arthur had to touch him . . . and rub lotion on him too? What could be worse? He wasn't sure he could get through it without fainting. But it would sound even weirder to refuse the request . . . so he would just have to act like it was no big deal.

"Of course I'll help," Arthur agreed, pretending to be completely unfazed. "No trouble at all!" He kept a faux smile plastered across his face as he walked over to Alfred. _Just act natural, _he told himself. _It'll only take a minute. _

"Thanks, Arthur!" Alfred said, handing him the sunblock.

"No problem!" Arthur chimed, wondering if Alfred had planned this whole thing purposely. He couldn't quite tell from Alfred's innocent expression. _But I won't let it get to me! _he thought, although his hands were shaking already. Squeezing out some lotion, he finally placed his hand on Alfred's back. The very touch was like an electric jolt—and it made him pull away at once.

"Something wrong?" Alfred asked.

"N-no, nothing," Arthur said, glad Alfred couldn't see his face. Focusing back on the task, he started again, this time without pulling away. His face burned painfully hot, but he couldn't say he disliked the sensation. Alfred's skin was so smooth and warm . . . the more Arthur touched him, the more he _wanted _to. He suddenly found himself grateful that Alfred had requested this. It gave Arthur an excuse to touch him without feeling _too _embarrassed about it. And after a little while, Arthur's nerves began to calm down again, and his face stopped burning . . .

"Uh, Arthur?"

"Hmm?" Arthur snapped back to reality, suddenly realizing he had used way too much suntan lotion; Alfred's back was completely white from it. "Oh, I think that should about do it!" Arthur told him, as though he had applied just the right amount. "No need to worry about getting sun-burnt now!"

"Yeah, I think you're right about that . . ." Alfred mumbled. "So, want me to do you now?"

"Er—what?"

"Want me to put sunblock on your back now?" Alfred clarified, pointing to the lotion.

"Oh, that. Yes, all right," Arthur replied, mortified at how badly he had misconstrued Alfred's words. _Get your mind out of the gutter, _he told himself. _What the hell's wrong with you?_

"Hey, you okay?" Alfred asked.

"Of course!" Arthur replied, turning away. "Never better!"

_Just calm down_, he coached himself. _And quit acting like some hormonal schoolgirl!_

"Hey, Arthur—"

"Ah!" Arthur cried, noticing that Alfred was attempting to remove his shirt.

"I can't put on the lotion if you won't take off your shirt," Alfred reminded him.

"Oh. Right," Arthur chuckled, taking it off. "My mind must have been wandering . . ."

"Yeah, I guess so," Alfred said, his tone of voice suggesting he knew _exactly _where Arthur's thoughts had been wandering off to. But he said nothing as he began rubbing sunblock across Arthur's back. He wasn't the least bit hesitant, and Arthur had to admit it felt good, almost like a massage. It reminded him of the time they had gone horse-back riding, when Alfred had kissed his neck. He recalled how he had spazzed out then too, by falling off the horse. Why did he always have to act like that?

_Maybe I should just relax and let things be_, he thought, closing his eyes. _If I could simply calm down and accept it, perhaps it wouldn't bother me so much. _Sighing, he let his mind drift off in thought. _But what exactly would I be accepting? The thought that Alfred and I . . . that we could be . . . _An image of him and Alfred together flashed through his brain. First, the two of them were holding hands . . . and then embracing . . . and kissing . . . and eventually stripping—

"No, no, no, no, no, bad!" Arthur yelled, whacking himself in the head. "Bad, bad—!"

"Uh, something wrong, Arthur?" Alfred asked, looking more than a little concerned for Arthur's sanity. "Y'know, if you're not used to the heat, it can fry your brain a little . . ."

"Heh heh," Arthur chuckled, trying to recompose himself. "Yes, yes, I think it must have been the heat. I need some water." Alfred passed him a bottle, and he took a generous swig. "There, I feel better already!" he assured him, trying to shrug the whole thing off like it was a momentary heat stroke. "So, how about we finish the castle?"

"Okay," Alfred agreed, eyes slightly narrowed. "As long as you don't assault yourself anymore."

"Not to worry," Arthur replied, turning away. _Good God, I've made a fool of myself_, he thought, feeling he deserved every one of his self-inflicted punches. _I think that man's slowly turning me mad. _Glancing back over at Alfred, he began to wonder just how much more of this he could take.

xxx

"That should do it," Arthur declared, placing the final seashell on the castle's highest tower. "It's complete."

"Turned out pretty good, didn't it?" Alfred said.

"It _is_ rather impressive," Arthur agreed, admiring the castle's size and complexity. "It's a shame the tide will wash it away in a few days."

"Yeah, but we could always take a picture," Alfred suggested, pulling out his digital camera.

"For once, I like your idea."

"What are you talking about? My ideas are always awesome! And why are you getting up? You're gonna be in the picture too!"

"Like hell I will be!" Arthur exclaimed. "I just want a picture of the castle and nothing more—"

"But we should be in the picture together!" Alfred argued.

"That's impossible! How can we _both_ be in it when you're the one who has to take the bloody snapshot—"

"I'll just set the timer," Alfred interrupted, placing his camera atop a pile of sand pails. "There. Now it'll be level with us. It's gonna be a great picture!"

"But I never look any good in photographs . . ."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"What?"

"C'mon Arthur," Alfred said, pulling him down beside the sand castle. "Only ten seconds left!"

"I told you, I'm not going to—"

"But don't you wanna remember this moment?" Alfred asked, putting on his most dejected face.

_Damn. Why does he have to pull that with me? _Arthur thought, biting his lip. With a sigh, he nodded, and turned toward the camera. _I suppose I should smile, but smiling always seems so unnatural in photographs. I'm bound to look ridiculous. Maybe I should just give up on smiling and try to look dignified at least—_

But before he could decide what expression to adopt, his problem was suddenly solved for him.

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred whispered, tapping him on the shoulder.

"What is it now?" Arthur grumbled. "The photo's about to—" But before he had a chance to finish, he found his words cut off as Alfred leaned in and kissed him suddenly on the lips. A moment later, the camera flashed as the photo snapped, and Arthur's mind reeled with confusion. For a split second, he thought maybe Alfred was just doing this as a joke for the camera, but when Alfred didn't pull away after the picture was taken, Arthur came to the shocking realization that it wasn't just a prank. He felt Alfred's hand on his face and Alfred's lips pressed so tightly against his. . . . Arthur's hands clenched into nervous fists as the blood rushed to his face, and he was suddenly panicked, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe. He jerked himself away without warning, breaking the kiss and taking a few deep breaths to keep himself from passing out. His eyes were still closed, as he was too embarrassed to even look at Alfred. He had never felt so flustered before—his whole body felt overheated, like he just wanted to go dunk himself in the ocean and maybe never come back up for air.

"Arthur . . . you okay?" Alfred asked, putting his hands on Arthur's shoulders to stop him from trembling.

"Why did you . . . ?" Arthur stopped and swallowed hard, finally opening his eyes. "What were you thinking?"

Alfred cracked a smile. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, what were you doing?" Arthur murmured, still looking down.

"What did it look like I was doing?" Alfred replied, laughing. "C'mon, you're supposed to be smart, Arthur. You must have figured it out by now."

"Figured out _what_?"

"Are you serious? You really don't know?" Alfred asked, tilting Arthur's head upward so that they were eye to eye. "I'm crazy about you, of course. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

Arthur's eyes widened as he tried to turn away, but Alfred refused to let him. "You really can be dumb sometimes, you know that, Arthur?"

_Not exactly dumb, _Arthur thought, _just in denial. _As soon as Alfred had said it, Arthur realized it really shouldn't have come as that much of a shock. It wasn't like it was out of nowhere—there had been signs of it before, but Arthur had just chosen to block them out. And it was the same with his own feelings. He had chosen to ignore them and pretend they weren't even there, but now that Alfred had confessed, and the two of them were face to face, Arthur felt he couldn't deny it any longer . . .

"I . . ." he began, looking up at Alfred. But he couldn't finish. So close to Alfred's face, he could only admire every feature of it, particularly Alfred's deep blue eyes, which he felt he'd never noticed properly before. He had spent so much time looking away from Alfred out of embarrassment that now he just wanted to stare and commit every detail of his face to memory. Alfred really was handsome after all—he could finally admit it to himself—and he just wanted to be closer and taste him one more time . . .

Before he knew it, Arthur had pressed his lips against Alfred's. This time, it was a much more proper kiss. Arthur surprised even himself by being the one who initiated it, but it just made him realize how much he truly wanted it. All he could think of was Alfred, and how good it felt—Alfred was all he cared about. He would have done anything to make that moment last forever. He had his arms around Alfred's neck, and he felt Alfred's hand as it brushed against his chest. Alfred slipped his tongue into Arthur's mouth, and Arthur couldn't get enough of it. Alfred tasted like ice cream and cola and popsicles, only so much more delicious . . . Arthur was lost in it, and he couldn't even tell how long it lasted, but eventually the two had to pause for air.

Unfortunately, as soon as he pulled away, Arthur felt the weight of reality return to him in an instant. It came rushing back along with logic and sense and all of those other dreadful things he had abandoned a moment ago. As he gasped for breath, his face still so close to Alfred's, he longed to forget again and just continue with his fantasy-made-real, but his reason nagged at him too fiercely. There wasn't any doubt he had feelings for Alfred—that much was certain—but he couldn't tell for sure just how strong those feelings were. And he couldn't tell for sure if it were wise to be acting on those feelings either . . . he worried that in the end, it would only bring him pain.

Alfred leaned forward to kiss Arthur again, but Arthur put out his hand to stop it.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Arthur mumbled, unable to look up at him.

"But . . . isn't this what you want?"

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. No, look at me, Arthur," Alfred said, holding Arthur's chin up. "This is what we both want, right? It's so simple. So what's the problem?"

"How can you say that?" Arthur asked, swatting Alfred's hand away. "Nothing can come of it . . ."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there can't be anything serious between us."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Arthur repeated, letting out a faint laugh. "Because I'm supposed to be here for _business_. I came to strike a business deal, and then I'll be returning to England—I can't stay here, which means we can't be together. So I'm not going to get myself involved in something that's doomed to fail. It'll only end up causing me pain."

"But I'm not trying to cause you any pain—"

"I know that," Arthur said quickly, trying his best to keep his composure. "And I'm grateful that you even bothered to take an interest in me, but I can't do this." He made a move to get up, but Alfred stopped him.

"No—you said what you wanted, now let me tell _you_ something," Alfred began, not taking his eyes off Arthur. "I get what you're saying, okay? And maybe it even makes sense. But you can't just quit because you're scared you might get hurt. Before you came here, your life was lonely, wasn't it? I could tell you weren't happy! Well, if you never take any risks, your life will never change!"

Arthur bit his lip, trying to keep himself from shaking. "But risks can be dangerous."

"Yeah, but they don't _always_ end badly," Alfred reminded him. "And this is worth the risk! I'm not gonna let you go, Arthur. If I did, I know I'd always regret it."

"Alfred . . ." Arthur whispered, taking a deep breath. His chest felt tight, and his lungs seemed weak. He _wanted_ to give in to what Alfred was saying, but he just couldn't . . . he had to listen to his mind this time, not his heart . . .

"You're still ignoring the fact that once my business is done here, I'll be gone for good," Arthur told him.

"Maybe, maybe not," Alfred continued, unyielding. "Sure, that's the way you _think_ it's gonna end. But your trip didn't start out the way you figured it would either, right? Didn't _plan _on nearly burning to death in a fire, did you? So if things didn't start the way you thought they would, maybe they won't end the way you think either."

Arthur looked back up at Alfred, determination evident in the man's every feature. He could see why Alfred's parents thought he'd make a good businessman—he was great with persuasion, that was for sure. But Arthur wasn't about to make any snap decisions. This wasn't a "take it or leave it" deal. This was far more complicated than that.

"I need to think," he said at last, rising swiftly to his feet.

"Then _tell me_ what you're thinking—"

"No, I need to be alone. I can't think straight when I'm around you," Arthur said, snatching up his tote bag. "I'm sorry, but I need to go."

"Wait, Arthur—"

But it was too late. Arthur had taken off, headed up the hill and back to the shop, and onward to the exit. He needed to clear his head and consider everything that had happened. Like Alfred had said, he wasn't sure how it would all end, but one thing was for certain: there were really only two choices. Either he would stay and embark on this mad relationship, or else he would call his boss and say they'd better send someone else out, because he'd be on the first flight back to England.

xxx

A/N: Aw, Arthur, HOW CAN YOU RUN AWAY! What will Alfred do without you!

Well, they finally had their first kiss . . . and Alfred got it all on camera, of course. That is one picture I would kill to see XD

The free ice cream was inspired by the restaurant Jason's Deli, which actually does offer free ice cream like that! Seriously, I was standing at their ice cream machine, getting some of the swirly flavor and was like "Wait . . . the chocolate and vanilla are like Alfred and Arthur and together they're swirly!" XD Yes, only I would make such a connection. I feel a little bit frightened that I actually think like this on a daily basis . . .

On a random note, I really want to see the Captain America movie. Has anybody seen it? It sounds like Alfred's kinda movie! Come to think of it, Cowboys and Aliens sounds like an Alfred-ish movie too! I could picture Alfred dragging Arthur along to the theatre for these movies . . . but Arthur would probably try to sneak out and go to Harry Potter instead! XD

Oh, and to xxalexisurgodxx**, **sorry they didn't quite make it to surfing at the beach! They were too busy snogging lol I think Alfred would have gone surfing later, but alas, Arthur ran away too quickly! Hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment :D Likewise, to Empress Vegah, I can relate very well to your fujoshi mind, as I suffer from the same affliction! Yes, this story is only T, but I'm considering writing a couple of lemony side-chapters later on and posting them separately, if anyone's interested. But no guarantees yet, just _considering _it, so stay tuned!

Well, I know this chapter took a long while, but I hope it was worth the wait! I'll try my hardest to make sure the next chapter comes out in a speedier manner!

Speaking of which, next chapter: Arthur must make a decision about what to do . . . and finally come to terms with his true feelings. But will he be able to admit them to himself . . . and to Alfred?

Until then, I'd very much appreciate any reviews! See you all next time :D Ciao!


	14. Ch 14: Why I Love Him

Hey all, time for a new chapter! Huzzah!

As usual, thanks to all reviewers: **XxBleedingSoulxX2828 , HamburgerWithTea, Yuu-chi, MashednotHashed, kooliobutterflyhahaha, mudkiprox, xxalexisurgodxx , hetalia-deathnote-kuroshitsuji , Trumpet-Geek, SCBunnyGo, Deidara'sgirl19 , TheWonderBunny , KnowYourSecrets12, IchigoMelon, cat'akai, HetaliaBitchezz**, and **Koi.**

At Yuu-chi: Yes, I agree that Arthur definitely gets more attention, since it's from his point of view. I tried last chapter to show Alfred's feelings too by having him tell how strongly he felt about Arthur . . . but this chapter, it kinda goes into both of their heads about what they're thinking, so hopefully that will be a bit more helpful in revealing Alfred's side of things. And thanks for your input :)

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Ch 14: Why I Love Him

Alfred called out to Arthur one last time, but it was no use. The Englishman was gone, and Alfred was left quite alone on the beach, unsure of what to do. A part of him _wanted _to chase after Arthur, but then, he worried Arthur might just be angry with him for not giving him some space. Arthur had said he needed time to think, so Alfred would grant his request . . . for now, at least. But if Arthur wasn't back by tomorrow, Alfred would seriously have to go looking for him. It's what any hero would do!

But for now, Alfred settled back down on the sand, watching the tide creep ever closer to the castle they'd built. The sea was already beginning to erode it away in the front, and by tomorrow, there probably wouldn't be anything left of it . . .

Alfred hoped his relationship with Arthur would fare better.

But the problem was, he just couldn't figure out what Arthur was thinking, or what he wanted, or what his feelings were . . . he _thought _he knew—he thought Arthur liked him. At least, Arthur always seemed to enjoy being around him (even though he tried to hide it by acting perturbed), and he always blushed when they got close, and he even seemed jealous at the party. . . and yet he'd gotten angry and ran away when Alfred tried to take things to the next level! Geez, it was getting pretty annoying. Were all British people this crazy? Alfred had no idea what to think. Of course, if Arthur had been anyone else, he probably would've given up on him by now. But Arthur was worth fighting for, so he wouldn't throw in the towel just yet. Besides, he wasn't a quitter anyway. For him, it was all or nothing. _Life_ was all or nothing.

Taking out his camera, Alfred sneaked a quick peek at his camera, particularly the picture he'd snapped of their kiss. Arthur's face was priceless—totally hilarious! That picture was so perfect—he'd have to make it his cell phone wallpaper; that way, he could flip it out all the time to remind Arthur. After all, that kiss _deserved _reminding: it had been a truly incredible moment. The highlight of the day, in fact, and everything after that seemed distinctly un-awesome by comparison. He hadn't expected Arthur to run away like that. In fact, he'd planned out this whole day just for Arthur: Alfred would charm him, and it would be all romantic like in the movies . . . and he thought Arthur would fall into his arms like in the movies too, but it didn't happen. He wasn't sure where Arthur was at the moment, but perhaps he'd checked into a hotel. Alfred had hoped the night might end in a hotel room as well, albeit one in which _both _of them were present. . . . But that was life: unpredictable. Then again, that's what made it so interesting.

_If it were completely predictable, it'd be boring, wouldn't it_? Alfred thought to himself. That was one of the reasons Alfred like Arthur so much: he was unpredictable. Sometimes he'd have no problem with Alfred holding his hand, while other times he'd jerk himself away from a simple touch. But maybe that was because Arthur was having difficulty sorting out his own feelings. Well, in that case, leaving him alone was probably the best thing Alfred could do. Hopefully, Arthur would manage to decipher his emotions. And hopefully, he'd come to the right conclusion . . . that the two of them belonged together! There was no doubt about that. No doubt at all.

From the first moment Alfred had met Arthur, he'd felt some kind of connection. He couldn't really explain it, but . . . he just wanted to spend time with Arthur, and get to know everything about him. And then he'd found out how entertaining it was to annoy him and tease him and see him get all flustered—Alfred never got tired of it! He wasn't really used to people like Arthur. Most of the people he knew were partiers and fun-lovers, not nearly as responsible as Arthur. But then again, Arthur always seemed a little depressed as well, and Alfred just wanted the chance to brighten his mood. More so than annoying him or riling him up, Alfred just wanted to see Arthur smile. That was what made all his efforts worthwhile.

And he'd thought today's events would do just that. He thought Arthur would be smiling at the end of the day, not storming off, troubled and confused. Alfred had tried his best; he knew Arthur hadn't been exactly pleased with the birthday party, so he'd brought him to a private beach. And he'd totally let Arthur call all the shots, helping him build the sand castle just like he wanted. He thought that would make Arthur happy. But maybe he'd been wrong all along, and maybe Arthur didn't really want to be with him . . . the thought brought a lump to his throat, something he hadn't really experienced before. _Rejection _was something he hadn't experienced much before, to be honest. And he didn't want to start experiencing it now. He wanted to be with Arthur, no matter the difficulties. He'd never been in a serious relationship before, but secretly, he'd always wanted to know that kind of love. The kind that was eternal and unwavering and unconditional . . . but what if Arthur didn't want the same things . . . ?

Brows furrowed, he pondered it for a few moments.

"Nah!" he finally exclaimed, laughing. "Can't be. Arthur's crazy for me, I know it!" That was right—Arthur absolutely couldn't resist him, and he knew it. "He'll be back soon. He can't stay away from me for long!" So Alfred would wait. He hated it of course (he wasn't exactly the most patient person in the world), but for Arthur, he'd do it. When Arthur came running back, he'd be waiting with open arms. He could just picture that half-embarrassed, half-joyful look Arthur would have upon his face. Arthur could hardly say anything to Alfred without blushing as red as a cherry.

"What a dope," Alfred admitted, laughing. "But that's why I love him."

x x x

It was already dark outside, and Arthur had rented a room in a hotel he didn't even know the name of. He hadn't been concerned with petty details like that; all he wanted was someplace where he could be alone. He'd run a fair distance away from the beach, and picked the first hotel he could find. He knew there wasn't really a need to run and hide, since Alfred wasn't chasing after him. In a way, that notion sort of stung him. Maybe part of him wished Alfred _would_ come dashing in to comfort him. Anyway, that was why Arthur was there in the first place: to try and sort out his feelings about the man. He was tired of lying to himself, and he wanted to figure it out—once and for all—what Alfred truly meant to him.

After taking a quick shower to get the sand off of him, Arthur collapsed upon his bed. He was completely exhausted, but he knew he had to pull himself together. To figure things out now, he'd have to think back to the times he'd spent with Alfred. And he did: he remembered how Alfred had saved him during the fire when they first met, and he recalled how he'd felt some kind of pull to stay with Alfred even afterward. He could have gone back to London, but he chose to stay . . . was that just a business decision or something else? He was fairly devoted to his work, but he admitted that wasn't the first thing on his mind when he'd made the decision. And he agreed to stay at Alfred's home too. Typically, he wasn't very keen on staying with strangers at all, and he didn't even think it proper to impose on people that way. But he'd agreed to it with Alfred, mainly because he'd been curious to know more about him.

_So there was something about him from the start . . ._

And then there were all the times the two of them had spent together. Well, actually, it had only been a few weeks, but it somehow felt much longer than that. Touring the gardens, watching the drive-in movie, attending Matthew's graduation, horseback riding in the fields, and now the beach . . . Arthur had probably done more memorable things in just the last month of his life than he had in years before. These were certainly the things he'd remember most in the future. Not the daily grind of work and business, but the way he had rested his head on Alfred's lap in the vineyard or the way Alfred had kissed him as the camera flashed at the beach. And there was definitely a part of him that didn't want such things to end, even though he knew he'd have to go back to England sometime. But he was having—for lack of a better phrase—the so-called "time of his life." He hadn't even realized what he was missing until now. Finally, there was someone who actually cared for him, and wanted to spend time with him, and look after him . . . wouldn't it be foolish to abandon all of that?

But then again, it might also be foolish to accept Alfred's feelings as fact. Maybe Alfred liked him _now, _but what about in the future? Alfred was still very young, just barely past being a teenager, and his feelings might fluctuate at any time. Up until now, it seemed Alfred hadn't ever gone for a steady relationship—especially not one with another guy. So what if Arthur decided to go along with this whole crazy thing, and then Alfred up and changed his mind? No matter which way you looked at it, it would be taking a huge risk. But might it not be worth it in the end?

_After all, when will I get another chance like this? _Arthur thought, knowing he'd never felt like this about anyone else before. Actually, he'd never imagined he'd be attracted to another guy, but Alfred was something special. So maybe what the two of them had was special as well—too special to be simply dismissed or ignored. Arthur had to admit he liked to think about it that way, like it was all destiny they'd met on the night of the fire . . . Arthur had always been a romantic at heart, even though he tried to stifle it by valuing reason and logic so heavily. But at times like these, his romantic leanings couldn't help but shine through.

Of course, before he could decide on whether or not to take a chance with Alfred, he had to decipher how strong his own feelings were. He could no longer deny he felt _something _for Alfred, but was it just a physical attraction, or perhaps a simple crush? Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate among such things.

After all, what _was_ a person to you, when he was the one thing that your mind kept drifting back to? When your pulse would begin to race of its own accord, and the blood would shoot up into your face with such an unbearable pressure, and your palms would become all hot and sweaty (and this worried you because what if _he _tried to shake your hand when it was like this?), and his laugh would send shivers up your spine and make you want to record it and play it over and over again, and you found a smile forming on your lips despite his stupidity— because it really wasn't stupidity at all, of course, and really _you _werethe stupid one for not realizing that all along, and he—

_I can't take this! _Seizing a pillow, Arthur threw his head against it and screamed. Really, he screamed the stuffing out of the thing. And then he pictured Alfred screaming back at that drive-in movie, and it made him want to scream even louder. He wanted to walk out onto the empty beach and scream to the ocean—but he worried that Alfred might still be around. Because the screaming he wanted to do wasn't just mindless yelling. There was something he _wanted _to scream. A phrase. A simple little phrase, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, or even to think it . . .

"Damn him, damn him . . ." Arthur murmured, hugging the pillow close to his chest. _It's all his fault. My life used to make perfect sense, and now look what a bloody mess he's made of it . . . _But even as Arthur found himself inwardly cursing Alfred, his tongue unwittingly rolled about his mouth, hunting for any lingering taste of the man. He had a craving for it—that sweet taste of red wine and dark chocolate and cherry popsicles . . .

Dazedly, Arthur rolled over on the mattress. His face burned and he could feel his body trembling. Who the hell was he kidding? This was no ordinary feeling. This wasn't something he could just shrug off. It couldn't be a petty crush. The mere fact that his mind had spent so much time churning over the entire situation meant that something big was up. He was just too scared to admit what his heart knew to be true.

Sitting up again, he heard his cell phone beep as it received an incoming message. He didn't really want to check it, but he ultimately did, just in case it was a message from his boss. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised to find it was nothing to do with work. When he opened it up, he discovered that Alfred had sent him the picture he'd snapped—the one where they were kissing. Arthur couldn't stop himself from smiling at it. In the picture, he just looked so shocked and amazed at the moment Alfred kissed him, like he was witnessing some kind of crazy magic or something. Well, maybe it _was_ a sort of magic, in its own right. Either way, it was a feeling he knew he'd never forget for the rest of his life.

Rummaging through the contents of his bag, he found the shark plushie Alfred had given him, still looking as disturbingly cute as ever. But he also found a seashell at the bottom of the bag, one he had picked up on the beach. It was a conch shell to be exact, and on a whim, he pressed it to his ear. As expected, he could hear the sound of the supposed "sea" inside it. Of course, it wasn't really the sea, but . . . _Heh, _he thought, _I know exactly what Alfred would say about this. _He could imagine the entire conversation in his head:

"_Listen. You can hear the sea, Arthur!"_

"_No you can't. It's just an echo of the blood rushing through your ear."_

"_No way! It's obviously the sea! Just listen—see, that's what the sea sounds like, isn't it?"_

"_Yes, but just because it _sounds _like the sea doesn't mean it is the sea."_

And then Alfred would look at him pointedly. _"Yes it does."_

Now, as Arthur lowered the shell from his ear, he realized what he'd been missing all along. Arthur had tried to understand his feelings by rationally explaining them away, but in the end, emotions are what they are. Arthur could try to deny his feelings or call them something else, but in the end, there was only one thing they acted like, so there was only one thing they could be. That's right, this feeling could only be—

"Love."

Arthur exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It felt like a confession, to speak that word out loud, and a wave of overwhelming relief washed over him the instant he uttered it. It felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was finally being honest with himself.

Slowly, his mouth curled into a wide grin, and he clutched his pillow to his chest.

"Love," he repeated, eyes on the blank ceiling, "I'm in love. I'm in bloody love!" Suddenly, he felt quite hysterical, like he was on a tremendous high. But then again, that was the effect Alfred F. Jones had on him—the effect of a swift and potent drug.

Once he realized this, there really wasn't much else to discuss. Love was love, and only a fool would give up a chance to experience such a thing for himself. As annoying and obnoxious as Alfred could be, there was something so endearing that Arthur just couldn't ignore. He was worth the risk, no matter the consequences.

It was all such a sudden decision that Arthur couldn't even begin to sort out all the details. What would he do? Would he finish the business deal, but stay in California? It seemed crazy to just stay here on such a whim. But maybe Alfred would be willing to go back to England with him? Maybe they could have a long-distance relationship? No, no, that would never work; he could never stand to be so far away from Alfred for so long . . .

_What would Alfred suggest? _he wondered. _Well, he'd probably suggest_ _not thinking about it for now, and just living in the present. What a bloody fool. _Flipping open his phone, Arthur glanced at their picture once more. _But of course, that's why I love him. _

x x x

Know this chapter was a little shorter, but hope you guys enjoyed it nonetheless!

I'm excited the Hetalia: Paint it White movie is coming out this holiday season *squee* I hope it's good! Although I heard it has more FrUk than USUK, but ah well, you can't always get what you want . . . but have you guys seen that scene from the Hetalia PSP game where Arthur rescues Alfred! It's sheer AWESOMENESS! And pretty hilarious too. Just type in "Gakuen Hetalia Endings: America and England" in the youtube search engine, and it should come up. Just a little something to watch when you're procrastinating on homework, as I so often am :D

Next Chapter: Will Arthur finally scrounge up the courage to tell Alfred how he feels . . . ? Will Arthur finally stop being so tsundere . . . ? Well, probably not, but oh well. That's what he does best. He'll just have to overcome it a _teensy_ bit, I suppose . . .

Well, until next time! And please review~~! Thanks for reading!

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